“That is an unkind thing to say,” Mercy says in a cool tone. “My sister is clever and stronger than you know.”
“Oh, I know,” I say with a wry smile.
Mercy frowns, as if she didn’t expect me to agree with her.
“Why am I here?” she asks. “Is it about the garden?”
“What garden?”
“The staff said I could plant some flowers and produce,” she explains. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Do you remember my friend, Knox Fraser?” I ask, ignoring her words.
“The blue-haired boy?” she asks.
“Correct,” I say. “He is visiting for dinner, and I thought you could use some company, since your sister is so busy with her training.”
“You want me to entertain your guest?” she asks. “I’m not a good conversationalist. I don’t know what I will say.”
The doors are drawn open, and Knox strolls in. His blue hair falls lazily into his eyes, and he’s grinning, ear-to-ear, as he approaches Mercy.
His eyes glitter wickedly under the chandelier light.
“Ms. Warrick,” he purrs. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
He holds out his hand for her, and she nervously lets him capture it. Knox drags it to his mouth, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.
I let out a loose cough. He is laying it on too thick.
Knox takes the seat to her left instead of near me—his usual spot. I should have given him a lesson on being discreet. His behavior is quite appalling.
“Mr. Fraser, I wasn’t expecting company today,” she says, placing her hands on the table to rise. “I will allow you both to converse in private.”
Knox wraps a hand around her wrist.
“Do not leave me with this dreadful bore,” he pleads. “I cannot handle a one-sided conversation.”
“I’m afraid I will not meet your expectations either,” she says. Her eyes brighten. “Perhaps, we can invite my sister, oh, she’s a lovely companion and wi?—”
“We are not interested in vile insults and colorful curses,” I say. “We would like to dine with polite company.”
Mercy sits down with a pout. She murmurs something under her breath that I can’t make out. Knox barks out a startled laugh.
“What?” I demand.
Mercy’s cheeks grow flush.
“She says you were probably deserving of her insults and curses,” Knox says with a wide smile. “I’m afraid she might have a point.”
I glare at her, but Mercy refuses to meet my gaze. I suppose there is some sharpness to her if she dares to insult me. Perhaps,she sharessomesimilarities with her twin sister, beyond their appearance.
A sage porcelain bowl is set before us with black truffle soup. Pearls of caviar glint like tiny obsidian jewels, floating limply across the surface. At the bottom, a small nest of fragrant rice, cooked to perfect fluffiness, absorbs the rich broth.
“So, Mercy, how have you been keeping busy in this place?” Knox asks.
“I’m planting a garden with squash, beets, and strawberries along with a row of daffodils and hyacinths.”
Mercy organizes her plate. She plucks the rice from the soup and sets it in a small bowl. Then she hunts every individual piece of caviar and organizes it in a separate dish. She does this until the meal is divided. And then slowly she eats with meticulous focus.
