Page 53 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Tsumiko eyes widened and watered. If anyone could understand, it was him—bound, obedient, and forced to breed.
Argent fit his hands around hers, encircling the empty mug. “The Smythes are plotting to pluck your fortune and my future. Will you be seduced by their fripperies and fraudulence?”
“No.”
“Will you instead trade upon the beauty of your soul for a husband of pedigree? Would that not give you the kinship you crave?”
“No.”
His brows arched. “Then you are safe.”
“Safe.” At that one word, the storm in Tsumiko’s heart calmed.
Argent pressed closer, his voice dropping. “All you have to do is decline their offers.”
THIRTY ONE
Stiff Upper Lip
“You shoulda burned that thing when you had the chance.”
Argent didn’t spare his son a glance as he eased his crisply starched shirt over bandages. Nor did he admit to being under strict orders to keep his uniform tidy. Despite the change in his attire over the centuries, the compulsion remained. Never a spot or wrinkle. Every knot and fold perfect. His mother would be astonished.
A soft noise of protest came from the direction of the door, and Michael hurried forward. “Don’t strain yourself! You’ll open a wound!”
“I will manage.”
“You’ll manage tomorrow, when you’re safely away. But you’re still here, and so am I.” Michael murmured, “Let me help while I can.”
Argent relented, if only to lessen the chance of staining the white shirt. He stood docile while Michael fastened buttons and fussed with his tie.
“Where’s Dad’s new stuff?” Gingko demanded. “Weren’t you getting him proper Amaranthine clothes?”
“The order’s placed,” said Michael. “You’ll both have new clothes by year’s end.”
Gingko’s ears snapped up. “Me, too?”
“You should have traditional clothes for formal occasions.” Michael retrieved Argent’s vest. “Family colors, family crest, that sort of thing.”
“Won’t that tip someone off?” asked Gingko.
“That’s part of the reason why the clothes aren’t finished. I had to order the various elements piecemeal. Final assembly will take place in a human shop, where no one will grasp the significance.”
“I like my own clothes,” grumbled the half-fox.
Michael acknowledged that with a warm smile. “You dress like a gardener, and that suits your station, but the Smythes are expecting an heiress and her butler. So that’s what we’ll give them.”
“A simple strategy,” said Argent. “I shall meet Lord Cedric’s expectations. The mistress shall disappoint them.”
Gingko’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“I oversaw the final packing of the trunks.”
“What did youdo?” his son repeated.
“Something both Sansa and Tsumiko approved,” Michael assured before completely changing the subject. “While you’re away, I’ll be researching ways to strengthen barriers over water. It’s too bad we don’t know any oceanic imps!”
Gingko snorted. “They’re a myth.”
