“But…it’s all that keeps me warm.” He brings a hand to the tangled golden-brown tresses. “I have no fur on this despicable body.”
“That’s what clothes are for. When I have your new wardrobe made, I’ll make sure it’s warm.”
He mutters a string of curses under his breath. “Remind me why I’m letting a human girl make demands of me?”
I square my shoulders. “Because we made a bargain and I’m basically your last hope.”
“If this scheme of yours doesn’t work, I’ll have your head.”
I ignore that, keeping to myself the fact that if this doesn’t work, he’ll be dead. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Besides, if this doesn’t work, I don’t get paid.”
Silence falls between us, and I’m about to return to the bureau when he says, “What will you do with the money? When the curse is broken and I hand over twenty thousand quartz rounds, what do you plan to do with it?”
I consider lying for a moment but settle on the simple truth. “I want to go home.”
He furrows his brow. “Home?”
“To where I lived as a child. Isola. It’s a warm and beautiful country, one I was forced to leave when…when my mother died. The money will help me buy passage out of Faerwyvae and perhaps purchase property in Isola.”
“What will you do there?”
“Have a farm, like the one I lived on when I was little. Perhaps raise horses.”
“Will you take your father? This Richard Bellefleur you so greedily stopped me from trying to con?”
My fingers clench into fists at the mention of my father. “No. He is the reason I seek financial independence. I will go to Isola alone.”
He studies me, eyes boring into mine as if he seeks to see straight through them and into my thoughts.
I give him a pointed look. “This is what I mean about staring.”
He throws an arm in the air and turns around. “Infernal human.”
“No, it’s good practice,” I say gently. “Here, let me explain how to amend the situation next time.”
Grinding his teeth, he turns back to face me. “Amend the situation,” he mocks under his breath.
“If you’re caught staring by a woman, or you find your gaze locking with someone for longer than, say, three seconds, you have two options. If you play the stoic gentleman, you must turn away at once. Show no embarrassment, but you may allow yourself to seem affected, disconcerted for merely a beat. As if you’d been captivated by her beauty but must turn away, lest your stare burn her. Then go about your business. You know, back to brooding and such.”
He shakes his head. “This is stupid.”
“The second option is the rogue. When the rogue stares at a woman, he need not look away at once, but he must turn the stare into something else. Not a bashful smile, but a devious hint that you know you’ve been caught staring and you like it.”
“What is this devious hint supposed to look like?”
I shrug. “A subtle smirk, perhaps. It must be convincing, though. It can’t look like a sneer and it must not be so obvious that everyone around you catches it too.”
“Well, isn’t that just simple as a snowflake,” he says, tone heavy with sarcasm.
“It’s probably not at hard as you think.”
“If you’re so smart, why don’t you show me yourself?”
I open my mouth, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Well, I’ve never played the rogue before.”
“Surely, you’ve been played by one, at least.”
The statement strikes me like a blow to the chest. His words were said with no malice, no scorn. It was likely nothing more than a clever turn of phrase, but it is painfully true. Played by a rogue indeed.
