Page 68 of The Thirteenth Count

“When necessary.”

“So, no.”

“Rarely.”

The breakfast Willem had brought sat arranged on the low table: dark bread still warm enough to steam faintly where it had been cut, soft cheese, sliced apples, boiled eggs, and a pot of tea. Her stomach tightened at the sight of it. Traitorous thing. She had no interest in proving Cassius right by eating immediately, but she also had no interest in facing whatever he had planned on an empty stomach.

She took the chair across from him and reached for the bread.

Sprout fluttered about the room before landing on the arm of her chair, his attention fixed on the apples.

“No,” Fern whispered.

Cassius poured another cup of tea without looking up. Then, with the same grave concentration he gave blood theory, he nudged one thin apple slice toward the edge of his plate.

Fern paused.

Sprout chirped.

Cassius shrugged. “What? He was staring.”

Fern looked down before he could see her mouth betray her.

It was easier when he was only cold. Easier when every word from him came barbed, when every order reminded her exactly what he was and whose blood ran in his veins. This was worse. The laugh he hadn’t meant to give. The careful way he’d fixed what she’d ruined. The apple slice nudged toward Sprout as if kindness became less dangerous when no one named it.

Fern didn’t care for it.

Cruelty she could deal with. But this? Well, she was still learning what to do with this.

She took a bite of bread before the thought could settle too deeply.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“Outside.”

Fern paused with the bread halfway to her mouth. “Outside where?”

“You’ll know shortly.”

“You’re averse to direct answers.”

“Only when the question is premature.”

She took another bite, mostly to keep from arguing. Across from her, Cassius had gone still again, all trace of the laugh gone from his mouth, his hands quiet around the teacup. Lady Blackwell would be proud. Whatever had happened in her room had already been folded and tucked away neatly.

Fern hated that too.

He checked his timepiece. “Coat.”

“I’m eating,” she said, gesturing to the food in front of them.

“You’ve eaten enough.”

“That is a terrible habit of yours.”

Cassius cocked his head ever so slightly. “What is?”

“Deciding things.”