Hell’s fire. Being whipped didn’t hurt this much. Chocolate fudge was the bribe when it came to being forgiven for doing something stupid and male. At least, it usually worked with Jaenelle and the coven. He knew Marian liked fudge because she’d bought some from that same sweetshop in Riada, but she wasn’t giving in enough to even taste it.

Looking around the kitchen, he spotted the kettle. “You made stew.”

“Actually, your father made the stew,” Marian said. “He showed up a little while after you left.”

Lucivar clenched his teeth. Well, wasn’t that just fine and wonderful? If he’d offered to help make the stew, she would have snapped at him. But his father could walk in here and make the damn thing without so much as a yip out of her. And, damn it, he was not going to be jealous of his own father.

Of course he was.

“You let him make the stew.”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Marian said, sounding testy. “One minute he was criticizing you for getting me upset and the next he was making the stew. I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t care if he’s your father, he had no right to criticize you about what you do in your own home. And when he gave me the carrots to cut up—”

“Wait.” Lucivar raised a hand. “He gave you the carrots?”

Marian bristled. “What’s wrong with that? I’m perfectly capable of cutting up a few carrots.”

He held up both hands in a placating gesture. She did get feisty when she was riled. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. It’s just not the vegetable I would have given a woman who was holding a sharp knife and was pissed off at men.”

When she gave him a blank look, he decided to move the conversation along before she figured out what he meant. “So you cut up the carrots and . . . ?”

“And I was so annoyed with him, I didn’t pay attention to what he was doing, and the next thing I knew the meat was cooking and the rest of the vegetables were ready to go in when it was time.” She frowned at the mug. “And he made this brew for me.”

Lucivar waited. “So what did he say about me?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He didn’t mean any of it. He told me so after he made the stew.”

He didn’t appreciate being criticized, but wasn’t it interesting that it had annoyed her enough that she hadn’t paid attention to what was going on in her own kitchen?

“But then he said . . .”

Lucivar studied her. She looked so baffled. “What?”

“He said if I wanted to be kind, I would let you make the biscuits . . . and let you fuss over me a little.”

“I can make biscuits.”

She shook her head. “You bought some bread.”