He looks shaken. Genuinely unsettled. His face is pale, his collar is slightly off, and he stops short when he sees me in the hall.
For one second, we just look at each other.
Then he says, “Katerina.”
I study him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
I tilt my head. “You don’t look all right.”
He tries to smile and fails. “It’s nothing.”
It plainly isn’t.
He glances back toward the study, then at me again. That one look tells me everything: whatever this is, it has to do with my father, and Arkady does not feel safe standing in the middle of it.
“What happened?” I ask.
He hesitates. That alone makes my pulse pick up.
“Arkady.”
He lowers his voice. “You should stay out of it.”
I stare at him. “Stay out of what?”
But he’s already pulling away from the conversation. He gives me one last look, oddly apologetic, then walks past me and heads down the corridor much faster than dignity would usually allow.
I turn just as my father steps out of the study.
He sees me standing there and looks annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
I fold my arms. “Walking through the house.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I look past him into the study, but he shifts slightly and blocks the view without making it obvious.
“Arkady looked frightened,” I say.
“He’s dramatic.”
“No,” I say. “He’s weak. That’s not the same thing.”
“You’re spending too much time thinking about things that don’t concern you.”
I almost laugh. “Wasn’t I supposed to be getting married to that old toad?”
“Katerina,” my father sneers.
That warning tone would have worked on me once. Even now, some old part of me still reacts to it before the rest of me catchesup. But I’m too tired, too suspicious, and too far past obedience to stop now.
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
“Nothing you need to know.”
“Then why does he look like that?”
