Just like I wish Verr would hurry up and leave before he makes my lot even worse.
2
VERR
The silence after fear is always the same.
It clings.
Thick. Expectant. Like the air itself is holding its breath, waiting to see if I’ll break it.
I turn away from the groveling human, my attention already shifting, sliding across the corridor—the angles, the shadows, the open archway leading out toward the gardens. Movement registers in pieces. Servants. Guards. Nothing worth?—
A flicker of red scarf, and a flash of verdant green gaze. My gaze catches on it without meaning to.
She’s half-hidden between rows, hands in the soil, posture angled just enough to look like she belongs there. Like she isn’t watching anything but the plants in front of her.
But she’s too still. Too aware. She saw. Of course she did.
My focus narrows, something sharper threading through the lingering heat in my chest.
“She dares to stare at me so?”
The words leave before I decide to say them.
“Mm.”
Skot’s voice answers from behind me, smooth as ever. I don’t turn right away.
“And yet she lives,” he adds.
I flex my fingers once at my side, grounding the sensation that hasn’t quite faded.
“I have better things to do than discipline foolhardy servants.”
“No,” Skot agrees mildly. “Of course not.”
I glance at him then. He’s standing just off to the side, posture relaxed in a way that’s entirely intentional. Nothing about him is accidental. His cunning gaze moves between me and the human, now diligently working in the dirt.
“She should have known better,” I say.
“And yet she didn’t.” Skot shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “That one is too sharp for her own good. An overhoned blade may easily break if wielded improperly.”
I look back toward her, bent in the dirt. Despite her garb, the feminine curves of her form are obvious. I feel a slight stirring of interest but quickly tamp it down as best I can.
“You stare so, young lord Verginyon,” Skot intones beside me.
“If you like,” I reply with barely a thought. Those green eyes, emerald and fresh like the first leaves of spring…so unlike the cruel stone lances of a dark elf gaze.
“Be careful with that one,” Skot says.
My jaw tightens slightly.
“Why?” I ask. “Is she troublesome?”
“Oh no, my Lord,” Skot replies with a slight shake of his head, a human affection if I ever saw one. “She gives all appearances of being quite tamed. I warn you because you noticed her.”
“That’s not a reason.” I snort, and give him a cocked eyebrow. “As always, your words dance around the truth like the tip of a duelist’s blade.”
