“Do you think me a coward?” Alton asked.
“No, of course not.” Clara’s reply was muffled by the door.
Alton’s voice was barely audible. “What am I doing here, Clara? Hiding in a wolf’s den, telling myself the wolf keeps us safe. But it’s his teeth we fear the most.”
***
Aoife woke before dawn, though sleep had never settled properly over her. Every time she drifted toward it, the memory dragged her back: Halverton’s hand flashing, the sharp crack of it, her father’s stunned silence, the bloom of heat across her cheek.
It hadn’t stopped burning.
She had challenged him. Let her temper speak where silence would have served her better, and he had reminded her exactly who held the power in this house.
Aoife pressed her palm to her cheek.
Defiance had gained her nothing. Alton was right. Obedience was the only thing that had yielded results.
When she had played the part he wanted, he had softened. Even if the food to the village was a manipulation, a tool used against her, the result was the same. Her family and friends had eaten that day, because she had swallowed her pride and played a part.
The mistake wasn’t trying to change him. The mistake was trying to do it honestly.
Halverton dealt in control and appearances. Power and performance. If she wanted anything from him, she would have to speak that language.
Fine.
She would.
Aoife swung her legs from the bed, the decision settling over her like armour.
Let him think the slap had frightened her into obedience. Let him believe she was learning her place, becoming the polished little lady he seemed so determined to make of her.
If that was the role he wanted, she would play it.
And she would play it perfectly.
Because the better the performance, the less he would watch her. The more he believed she was bending to him, the freer she would be to move.
And while he admired his own work, she and Cormac would take the grain.
Halverton’s world was one of power plays, manipulation, and performing the role assigned.
If that was the game Halverton played, then he had no right to complain when she learned the rules.
***
Aoife forced herself through the motions of getting ready with a precision she had never bothered with before. Hair parted cleanly. Laces straight. Not a wrinkle in the bodice. She wasn’t sure whether the swelling at her cheek was noticeable beneath the powder, but she would not give anyone, least of all Halverton, any sign of weakness.
When she entered the dining room, Halverton was already there, reading. He did not look up as she sat. Aoife smoothed her skirts and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Her heart thudded painfully, but her voice, when she spoke, was calm.
“Good morning, my lord.”
He glanced at her, eyes flicking briefly to her cheek. No comment. No apology. Only a measured nod.
“Good morning, Eva.”
He’d pointedly used the Eldrossi form of her name again, spoken as though nothing had happened.
So she pretended nothing had happened.
