“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” He remarks pleasantly, as they sit beside one another. His arm is still around her, the knife hidden under his cloak.

“What do you want?”

“That’s not a very friendly greeting. Aren’t you going to ask after Victoria, inquire how my business is doing?”

“Fuck you.”

Felix laughs. “I’ve missed you, Amara.”

“If you keep me here, Britannica will come looking for me.”

“I’ve no intention of keeping you. I have my own lovely wife now. She gave me a message, by the way, when I told her I was seeing you. Do you want to hear it?”

“I’m not interested in anything Victoria has to say.”

“She begs your forgiveness.” Amara says nothing, and his expression hardens. “Did you really think I’d leave you alone, that I’d let you laugh in my face? Not that it’s only me you’re laughing at.” Felix throws his head back, as if contemplating the tendrils that trail over the wall. “Can you believe there was a time I once saw you as a rival? What a fool. There you were, spreading your legs for a slave. A slave.” He laughs so hard, his arm shakes, and she is terrified he will cut her with the knife by accident. “You’re even more stupid than my wife. What did he say to you, to make you throw your life away?”

Amara forces herself to keep her face impassive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that his bastard?” Felix nods at Rufina. Amara clutches her daughter closer, trying to shield her from view. “After Victoria told me, I must admit, I thought it was a fucking lie. That penniless boy who used to pick you up from the brothel. That’s who you chose?”

“Whatever Victoria told you, it isn’t true.”

“Is that how you want to play it?” Felix strokes the side of her ribs lightly with the flat of the blade, until she is sitting rigid, her eyes fixed on his. “Do I have your full attention now?” His voice is soft. When Amara does not answer, he presses the knife a little closer.

“Yes,” she gasps.