Page 97 of Traitor Son

“Here.” The duke appeared with another bowl and dragged a chair over to the bed to sit down beside her as she ate. “Do you feel better? Properly awake?”

She nodded, watching him warily.

“I want to have serious conversation with you. And I want you to tell me what youwant.Not what you think I want to hear. I swear to the stars that I won’t be angry, no matter what you say.” His black eyes met hers squarely. “Promise? The truth?”

She nodded again.

“I know you haven’t been…comfortable here.” He had an aristocrat’s habit of sitting up very straight, his hands flat, with no gestures to punctuate his words. “I have done nothing to make you comfortable. I am sorry for that.” He said it straight out, and looked at her when he said it. “The Duke of Ereguil—do you know who he is?”

She nodded, listening.

“He advised against bringing you here from the first. I ignored him. I thought I had good reasons. And it has been worse than I expected, with the devils,” he admitted. “Anyway, if you want, I’ll send you to his estate. It’s a country estate in the south, probably the safest place in the Empire. He and the Duchess are good people, they would treat you well. Or if you don’t like that, I could send you back to Aldeburke—”

“No,” she said immediately, and looked down into her bowl. “No. Not there.”

“All right.” His big fingers touched her hand, making her look up at him. “Wherever you like, as long as it’s safe. I said I was sorry, and I meant it. I want to do better by you. So tell me what you want.”

The thought of going to another place filled with strangers was almost as daunting as devils. But Ophele thought about it. It was the same question Sir Miche had asked more than a month ago. She would never go back to Aldeburke, though she missed the library, and Azelma, and the familiar sights that still held a touch of her mother’s spirit. She never wanted to see the Hurrells again.

She knew nothing about the Duke of Ereguil, except that he had been a close ally of Remin’s old House and had protected him after the deaths of his parents. And therefore, he was no friend of the Emperor. Knowing her father, Duke Ereguil and his lady wife had likely suffered their own misfortunes. The thought of a whole new set of people to whom she would have to apologize because her father had tried repeatedly to have them killed made her quail inside. What if they hated her for it, too?

And what of her own resolve, to atone for the crimes of her parents? She still hadn’t doneanythingto make up for what the duke had suffered. But maybe she was just making things worse by being here. Maybe she hadn’t helped at all. They had already found someone to replace her on the wall. And she was troubling the duke even now, he had barely left the cottage in days and there was so much work to be done…

“Prin—wife?” The duke prodded.

“I don’t know,” she said, subdued. “I need to think.”

“All right. As long as you like.” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “You can talk to me. I can see you’re thinking. I am not good at talking, but I will try.”

“I don’t want to trouble you.” It was a modest goal, but she hadn’t even managed that much.

“Trouble me,” he said firmly. “I mean it, Ophele. If I ignore you, pitch a fit. Like Wen does.”

“No,” she said, her eyes widening at the image, but a small smile escaped her.

“Then hit me. Right here.” He took her hand and slapped it lightly against his cheek. “I’ll even bend down so you can reach.”

“I couldn’t,” she protested, and she covered her mouth, her eyes widening. Did he really mean it? “I can’t hit you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. Her hand was still pressed to his cheek and she wanted to pull it away, but she was afraid he might be angry if she did. Would he really be nice to her now? Or would he turn and snap at her again? Her stomach knotted with anxiety.

“I am sorry,” he said again, softly. “No matter what you decide, I will take care of you from now on. But I need you to tell me when something’s wrong. I don’t know anything about what you need. I wasn’t trying to learn, before. I was…there are reasons,” he hedged. “But it’s no excuse.”

“You can’t trust me,” Ophele replied softly. “I know.”

“I didn’t think I could.”

The words hung there, an admission of possibility. She didn’t know what to think. Looking at his strong, tanned hand, all she could see was the contrast with her own, pale and ragged as a wraith’s. It was not a capable hand. She didn’t know how to do anything useful. What would he say when he found out that she wasn’t any kind of princess at all? She had never learned any of the aristocratic arts, how to manage a house and maneuver through society, how to host a banquet or a ball or any of the numerous events that would forge crucial connections for her husband.

She wasn’t even strong enough to be useful as unskilled labor. Was this all she had to offer? To be sent away to a safe place until it was time to bear his children?

“Are you done with your food?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Silently, she extended the bowl to him. He didn’t smile. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile. But he looked into the bowl and looked at her, and there was a warmth in his black eyes that made her wonder what it might be like if things really were different.

“That’s better than yesterday,” he observed, and set it aside.

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