“I feel fine.” As he turned away from the table, she drank the rest of the brew and put the mug aside. She picked up the knife, then looked at the carrots. They were cleaned and the ends were neatly cut off. She didn’t remember doing that, but she must have.

chop

He moved around her kitchen, but she didn’t dare look up to see what he was doing since he kept grumbling about Lucivar and she was afraid of what she might say if she actually looked at him right now.

chop chop chop

Who did he think he was, anyway? He had no right to come into Lucivar’s home and criticize. She didn’t care if he was Lucivar’s father and the Steward of the Dark Court and the High Lord of Hell. He had no business criticizing Lucivar in public. Well, maybe not in public, since they were in the kitchen, but he shouldn’t be saying these things to Prince Yaslana’s housekeeper. It wasn’t right.

chop chop

And it wasn’t his business, was it? If she and Lucivar had clashed this morning, it had nothing to do with him. He didn’t live here.

She heard a quiet sizzle, but it was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d really heard anything, so she kept her eyes focused on the cutting board.

chop chop chop

So Lucivar was a little rough around the edges. So what? There wasn’t an Eyrien male who wasn’t. But he was kind, and if he got testy when he thought she was working too hard, wasn’t that better than someone who expected her to work until she was exhausted and still didn’t think she’d done enough? If she hadn’t snapped at him this morning, if she’d kept a tighter hold on her own emotions and told him she was planning to rest today, they wouldn’t have argued, and he wouldn’t have left because she’d made him unhappy.

chop chop

That wasn’t the point. The point was his father had no right to be grumbling about his son, and if she were Lucivar’s lover instead of his housekeeper, she’d tell his father a thing or two. Oh, yes, she would.

Slick Hayllian. Bah!

“Finished?”

The amusement in his voice confused her enough that he slipped the knife out of her hand before she realized he’d reached for it. He set another mug down in front of her and took the cutting board away.

She sniffed. There was a lingering scent of cooked meat in the air. She looked at the counter—and frowned at the bowl of cut vegetables. She looked at the stove and saw the big kettle she used for soups and stews, the witchfire beneath it spread in a circle that was perfect for simmering whatever was in the kettle.