The Duke’s Reborn Daughter Sometimes Chooses Violence.

I had moved the chairs four times. The library was not a large room by the standards of Veyne Manor, which meant it was only absurdly large rather than offensively so. Shelves lined three of the four walls from the floor to the ceiling. The fourth wall had a window that let in good afternoon light.

Two leather armchairs faced each other across a low table, and on that table sat a tea set, a box of pastries from Layers, and the last shreds of my composure. I moved the left chair two inches to the right. I stared at the arrangement, disliked it, and moved it back. “Anias set this up perfectly three hours ago,” I muttered to nobody. “And all I’ve done is make it worse..”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sere’s pencil moving. She sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, her notepad balanced on one knee. Sere still had her sling -would still have it for a week or so. She was drawing something. Me, probably. Pacing like an idiot, definitely. “Stop drawing me.”

She didn’t look up. Her pencil moved faster.

The chairs were identical. I had made certain of that. They were the same leather, the same height, the same cushioning. The positioning made sure there would be no sunlight aimed at anyone’s face.

The Layers box sat open on the table. There were several cream puffs, multiple tarts, and what had once been many chocolate cheesecakes. Now there were only two, the only two I had managed to hide from the blonde haired devil currently doodling. I felt something I hadn’t felt for quite some time. A strange feeling that was almost more uncomfortable than staring down a dragon.

Nervous.The Godblade’s impression settled into my mind with all the subtlety of a rock through a window.

Shut up, Vaelin.

A faint hum came. It felt almost amused. Since the mountain, the blade had been…different. It was quieter in some ways, more present in others. It was as if something between us had always been on the edge of tipping over and now it had finally settled into place. There was a knock at the door.

I looked at Sere. She met my gaze, puffed out her cheeks, and vanished. She took the notepad and the pencil with her, and so there was no sign of her ever having been there at all. I took a breath and smoothed my shirt.

Anias had led her in then. Maybe I should have come to greet her myself but...I’d thought this might work better. “Come in.”

Cordelia Greenward entered in full armor. Her gown was a deep emerald silk, immaculate by any standard. Her dark hair fell in careful waves that bounced with each step she took. Her smile was warm and utterly practiced. She came alone, just as I had hoped she would. Any guards she’d brought couldn’t exactly come in here.

Cordelia curtsied in the doorway. It was a perfect curtsy, the kind that I still could never copy. She swept her gaze across the library. I watched her eyes move. She saw the window first. Then the chairs. Her gaze lingered on the chairs for just a fraction of a second, and I knew she had noticed they were identical. Something flickered behind her expression. It was not surprise, exactly. I did not know what it was.

“Lady Veyne.” Her voice was just as smooth. “What a lovely library. I confess I had expected something more…formal.”

“I’m glad you came,” I said. I did not curtsy. I just stood from where I’d been hovering near the chairs and said it. There was a faint flicker on Cordelia’s face, gone as quickly as it came.

“Your collection is impressive.” Cordelia stepped further inside, one gloved hand trailing along the edge of a shelf. “I see you favor history. And…political theory.” Her eyes moved along the spines.

“Among other things. These are mainly from my father’s time,” I said. “Please, sit wherever you like.”

Cordelia chose the chair with its back to the window. It was a good choice. It let her watch the door, and made the light fall on me rather than her. I sat across from her and said nothing.

There was an awkward silence between us, one you’d expected to be filled by absent talk of the weather. Maybe an inane compliment. Maybe some other meaningless pleasantry. I did have a few...had prepared a few, in a small notepad in my room. Every single one of them had fled my mind the moment Cordelia sat down. “Would you like some tea?” I reached for the teapot. That, at least, I could manage.

I poured the tea wrong. Not catastrophically wrong, but still wrong. The cup didn’t overflow, and nothing spilled on the table, but I poured before the leaves had fully steeped, and the color was too pale. I could only guess at how it would taste now.

Cordelia’s right hand twitched toward the teapot. She caught herself and folded her hands in her lap instead. I noticed. “You want to fix it,” I said.

“I’m sure it’s perfectly fine, Lady Veyne.” She said back.

“It’s not.” I slid the teapot across the table toward her. “Please. I’ve been told my tea is something of a war crime.” I paused. “And my name is Esra. Just Esra.”

Cordelia looked at the teapot and then looked at me. Some calculation was happening behind those green eyes, one that I could guess at, but not see. Cordelia made her choice and something in her face lifted.

She reached for the pot. Her movements became fluid and sure. She emptied both cups back into the pot, waited precisely the right amount of time before she poured again. This time, the color was rich, and she set the pot down without so much as a clink of porcelain.

I found myself staring. I could admire something as simple as this. After Anias had spent the early hours of the morning drilling the proper way into me without it truly taking, I could admire it. “Thank you,” I said and meant it.

Cordelia settled back, her hands folding once more. Her expression was that perfect smile again. I took a sip. It was not the bitter tea I liked. I would not subject someone else to that. But…for what it was, it was good. “This is lovely.” I said. “Far better than what I would have served.”

“It is simply proper preparation,” Cordelia said. “Anyone could manage it.”

“I very clearly could not.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t a smile but perhaps it was the tiniest fraction of one. I wanted to keep going. To ask her something that wasn’t inane or just asked to fill the silence. Those kinds of questions had been on another list, which I had burned in the fireplace because the thought of anyone finding them was mortifying.

“So,” I began. The question that came out was not the one I had planned. “What do you actually like to do? When you’re not at events like the one your father hosted.”

Cordelia’s answer was instant. “I enjoy music amd embroidery. I have also been studying the ‘approved texts’ on Arian history, and I find them quite enriching.”

I nodded. The answer gave me absolutely nothing to work with. It was he same answer I could have gotten from quite literally any noble girl in the city. Well, besides myself and Violet. There was the chance to push. ‘Approved texts’ was a rather odd qualifier to use for someone who should know better. I did not.

“I’ll be honest,” I said instead, setting down my cup. “I practiced a list of things to ask you, and they all sounded wrong. I even wrote them down. Now that I am here…I find I do not like any of the things I came up with.”

Cordelia blinked once, then again. “You…prepared?” she asked.

“Extensively. It didn’t help.”

Something shifted behind her eyes. She reached for her teacup, sipped, and set it down. “Why did you invite me here, Lady Veyne?”

Her green eyes fixed on mine. They were sharp and steady. “The hand,” Cordelia continued, when I didn’t answer immediately. “At the parade. You kissed my hand. That was aimed at my father.”

“Yes.”

Cordelia paused. Whatever she had expected, it had not been open confirmation. Everyone played the game, but you weren’t supposed to admit to it.

“It was aimed at your father,” I repeated. “I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise. He tried to have me killed, and I wanted him to know that his reach is shorter than he thinks.”

Something tightened in Cordelia’s jaw. She had known, of course. Had even go so far as to warn me with a warning I hadn’t seen until it was already too late. “Then this,” she gestured between us, “is an extension of that. Another message?”

”Partly,” I said. ”The tiniest part. That is not why I asked you to come here.” Cordelia’s expression didn’t change. Her hands remained folded. Her posture remained flawless. ”At the parade,” I said slowly. ”Before we left for the expedition. You said something to me at the gate.” Her face didn’t give me anything. ”You said that when you invite strangers to pour the tea, it becomes terribly easy for something foul to slip into the cup unnoticed.”

Cordelia turned the ring on her finger. Just once. ”It was a pleasantry,” she said. ”Nothing more.”

”Your hands were shaking when you said it.”

There was a deeper silence at that. Cordelia kept turning that ring. What she had done had been dangerous, and yet she had done it anyway. Her mask held. It was impressive to do a thing like that. It was easy for me because of my Gift, a cheap imitation compared to what I saw now. ”I didn’t understand it at the time,” I continued. My voice was quiet. ”It wasn’t until the knife came that I realized what you’d done.”

”I don’t know what you’re referring to, Lady Veyne.”

”You warned me.” I held her gaze. ”You stood next to your father, in front of half the city, and you warned me. You were terrified, and you did it anyway.” Cordelia’s composure did not break. Her face remained perfectly still, her breathing perfectly even. ”That,” I said, ”is why you are here. Not the hand or politics. I wanted to sit across from the woman who did that.” I smiled. “And I wanted her to know that I am grateful. Thank you, Cordelia.”

The silence stretched. Cordelia’s ring had stopped turning. Her hand was very still.”You are a strange woman, Lady Veyne.” Her voice was steady. Almost steady, rather.

”I’ve been told.” I smiled. “And my name is Esra.”

The pastry box sat between us, untouched. Cordelia reached for her teacup, she sipped, and finally set it down.

I decided to push, just a little. “Your betrothal,” I said. “Alexander Bulwark. Is he…nice?”

The question was awkward, clumsy, foolish and childish all at the same time. It was the kind of thing a girl who had never had a normal conversation about boys might ask. Which was, of course, exactly what I was.

Cordelia’s looked at me. The composure was still there, but there was something beneath it. She looked like nobody had ever asked her that question before. “He is…a dutiful man,” she said. “His reputation is impeccable.”

Impeccable and dutiful, huh? I didn’t push further. I reached for one of the cream puffs. “These are from Layers,” I said, “Everyone in the city has been fighting over them. Try one.”

Cordelia took one. She bit into it with the precise control of a woman who had been taught to eat without appearing to eat. That was one of the more infuriating trappings of this world Anias had educated me on. Her eyes widened for half a second. The reaction was genuine and gone so quickly I would have missed it if I hadn’t been watching.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is…acceptable.” She reached for a second one. As she ate, her gaze drifted to the bookshelves behind me. I saw her eyes move along the spines. Her attention caught on something and held.

I didn’t turn around. I knew which shelf she was looking at. I could guess which book had caught her eye, because it was the only one on that shelf that wasn’t simple dry academia.

It was a slim, worn book with no author and no proper title. It was just called The Miller’s Wife and the Travelling Knight, pressed between a treatise on Arian taxation law and a history of the Farstep Circles.

It had been fun reading, when I had first come to this world. A trashy romance, but unabashedly so. I had put it in that section when I did not yet understand the classification system for this library. From then on, Anias had never moved it. I did not understand why, but it did make it easy to remember.

Cordelia’s gaze lingered for two full seconds. An eternity, for someone who controlled herself so well. Then she looked away and her face betraying nothing. I said nothing about it. The conversation drifted after that.

Cordelia asked about the expedition in more general terms. It was all safe territory, as far as questions went. Questions about logistics, the timeline, a few details about the Wastes. I answered, keeping it vague enough to be boring. She did not press, though she certainly might have. She was content with boring answers. This was clearly the task her father had put her up to, and yet it seemed like her fervor for carrying it out was no longer there.

“You must think quite highly of yourself,” she said lightly. “After such a feat. Your House killed a dragon at your age.” The words were wrapped in silk, but there was a point beneath them. She didn’t believe I had done anything more than sit behind the line and watch. It was hard to blame her. It hadn’t been nearly long enough for the stories to spread.

“It was a near thing,” I said quietly. “Nearer than I’d like.” Something flickered in her gaze. Her attention sharpened. I even saw her lean forward, just a little. “We lost a lot of people. A lot of good people,” I continued. “More than half the expedition. Some of them died because I wasn’t fast enough. Others because I was ignored when I shouldn’t have been. A few…” I paused. “A few because I made calls that were wrong.”

Cordelia was very still. “You were afraid?” she asked and her voice was neither testing nor mocking.

“I was terrified.”

“Of the dragon?”

I looked up from my cup and met her gaze. For the very first time, I felt like there was no strategy behind the question at all. “Of losing what I care about.” I whispered finally.

Cordelia’s hand moved to her ring. She twisted it. Once. It was a small twitch, one only noticeable because she was so perfect. I doubt she knew she had this tell, or she would have stamped it out a long time ago. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

“You know, the expedition wasn’t even the most embarrassing thing I’ve done recently.” Cordelia’s gaze refocused. The ring stopped turning. “A little while before we left, Count Calloway organized a soup kitchen in the District. I insisted on being there. Insisted on serving the food myself. I had this brilliant idea that if I dressed like the common folk, they’d see me as one of them.”

Cordelia’s brow rose a fraction. I assumed she knew, but perhaps she didn’t know the particulars.

“So I wore common clothes. I walked in there feeling very clever about the whole thing.” I paused, taking a sip of tea. “Do you know what happened?”

“I imagine it did not go as planned.”

I smiled. “It went spectacularly not as planned. I was playing pretend, and even a fool could see it.” I set down my cup. “It was somehow worse than if I had just worn a gown and been honest about what I was.” Cordelia’s lips pressed together. I noticed the tremor that went through them.

“The worst part,” I continued, leaning back in my chair, “was the boots. Everyone else’s boots were muddy and falling apart. Mine were pristine. You could have eaten off them.” I stared at the ceiling. “I was standing in the mud of the Veyne District, in spotless boots.”

I sighed, looked back at Cordelia and shrugged. “I heard at least the soup was good, from what I’ve heard.” The strangest thing happened. The one thing I had not prepared myself for, no matter how much I had thought about today. She laughed.

It was small. A sharp exhale that broke through her composure before she could catch it. Her hand flew to her mouth, pressing against her lips. Then, her eyes widened. Two fractions two wide. And for a second, I saw her. A girl surprised by her own laughter. Her green eyes were bright, and to me, they looked very warm. Cordelia was always beautiful, but this was the first time I saw it.

Then the horror came. I saw it flood her face. Her hand dropped from her mouth. Her spine straightened. Her expression smoothed. Seeing it twisted something inside of me. I did not show it. Guilt came with it too, guilt that Sere was here, overhearing something Cordelia hadn’t wanted herself to hear, let alone anyone else.

“That was a nice sound,” I said softly. “You should do that more often.” Cordelia’s hand went to her ring. She twisted it three times.

The tea was running low. The pastry box was lighter than it had been. Cordelia had eaten four of the creampuffs without seeming to notice, which I found quietly delightful.

The conversation had drifted to truly mundane matters after that. Cordelia mentioned the new projects in the Greenward District. I mentioned Count Calloway’s ongoing efforts to pave the worst roads in ours. She asked about the Magical Implements in the Veyne District, and I admitted that half of them were probably older than both of us combined. Despite how mundane it was…a part of me found it pleasant.

“Count Calloway has been handling most of the preparations,” I said, in the middle of describing his latest project. “The orphanage opening is tomorrow. I still haven’t decided what to wear. Last time I tried to dress for the common folk, I ended up looking like a very expensive scarecrow.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched. It wasn’t a laugh, but I saw its like play across her eyes. The tea wound down. Cordelia began the small movements of a guest preparing to leave. Her smile slid back into its rehearsed position. Despite that, it was hard to miss the impression that something about it was different.

I stood when she stood and walked with her toward the door. This was the moment. Despite everything else not going according to the many scripts I had written down, this I knew had to go exactly as I had planned. Yet, I couldn’t help but hesitate. Had I pushed too far today? “Cordelia.” She paused at the door, and then turned. “The opening tomorrow. The orphanage.” I faltered. “Would you want to come?”

I did not ask her like one was supposed to. When asking a noble lady, you were supposed to say ‘would you do me the honor?’ perhaps you would say ‘I would be delighted by your presence’. I said neither. I simply asked if she would want to.

Cordelia’s green eyes searched my face. Again, that calculation happened behind her eyes. All I could do was hope. Her mouth opened. “Yes.”

The word left her before she herself had decided. I saw it happen. The barely perceptible widening of her own eyes, as if her heart had outraced her brain. She covered immediately, her voice smoothing. “It sounds like a worthy cause. I would be curious to see the District’s progress under Count Calloway’s management.”

It was eloquent and beautiful. It was the bare yes that mattered far more.

“I’m glad,” I said. “I’ll send word in the morning. Thank you, Cordelia. For coming today.”

She curtsied. It was, as always, perfect, but there was the slightest hesitation in the rise. “Good afternoon, Esra.”

I had been about to curtsy too, and my own name was enough to freeze me in place. She left. I watched her go.

In the silence that followed, a notepad slid into view at my side. Sere materialized beside me, looking up with bright eyes. She held the notepad out. She ate all the creampuffs.

“Yes,” I said, looking at the empty box. “She really did.”

Sere grinned. She started to write again. Like her.

I paused and looked down at the two words. Then, I looked at the door Cordelia had just walked through. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I think I might too.”