Page 96 of Reign

She glances toward the doorway, then the windows, then the corners of the room as if she expects armed men to unfold from the walls.

“My brothers’ men are always visible,” she says, like that’s an accusation. “Hovering. Breathing. Ruining furniture. Existing loudly.”

She shrugs. “I haven’t seen any of your men.”

“Then they’re doing their job.”

Her lips part, then close.

For one second, silence wins.

Then she leans back in her chair and gestures between us with her fork. “So what, I’m supposed to sit all the way over here and yell at you for an entire meal?”

“You could come closer.”

Her head snaps up. “Is that an order?”

“You’re the one objecting to the distance.”

She stares at me.

I stare back.

The warm light catches in her eyes, turning the brown almost honey. Anger is easy to read on her. Or maybe she means for it to be. The rest of her appears more carefully arranged.

She chose the farthest chair and now she’s watching to see whether I’ll make her stay there.

Another test.

It seems Elena prefers questions with more than one possible answer.

I can work with that.

“You chose that chair,” I say.

“Because it was set.”

“And yet you hate the arrangement.”

“Because the arrangement is stupid.”

“If you want to be closer, Elena, come closer.”

Her brows raise. “You want me to move?”

“Yes.”

The answer catches her.

“You could have said that.”

“I just did.”

For a moment, I think she’ll refuse because she believes I expect her to.

Then she exhales sharply, stands, and picks up her plate.

She walks down the length of the table with all the dignity of a queen relocating a border.