Hello Readers! I know it had been a long, long time and I apologize for the delay. But I had lost my muse and but recently got it back. So here is the new chapter, I hope you like it. The OC here is still unnamed and a huge brat, making Rhaegar's head spin whichever way. Anyways, please review and let me know what you guys think about it. Happy Reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own A song of ice and fire...
His Secret Wisdom
Chapter Three
She still wouldn't take his offered hand and it frustrated him to no end. She was infuriating. So, he had to walk right behind her, his hands ready to grab onto her if she fell or bumped into something. He frowned at her shape in the dark, obstinate woman.
She stumbled once but still walked on in the dark, confidently and cautiously, taking slow small steps, hands held out at her sides feeling for objects that she might bump into. At least she was listening to his directions.
Finally they reached the table and because of the candles lit there, his view of her back became a little clearer. His eyes helplessly roved around on her back, she was wearing a very thin and very short chemise of some sort which ended at the curve of her waist and clung to her back like a second skin, it was very scandalous and very daring of her to wear under-clothing like that. He flushed wildly at the thought that she might be wearing something like that for a lover, to entice, enchant, seduce and own.
Something in his chest twisted at the thought of some man witnessing her like that or using her to quench his lust like some animal; her very personality and temperament said otherwise, she was not that kind of a woman. She was far too spirited. His eyes dropped lower and he couldn't help but tilt his head to the side to get a better view and understanding of what he saw.
She had on breaches in some dark material but they were the kind of breaches he had never seen before. His mind supplied him with an answer that maybe where ever she was from women wore that kind of breaches under their dresses to protect themselves from rough terrains and harsh weather. His skin felt heated at the sight of her lush curve of her bottom and it was so indecently and decadently presented to him in those breaches. His throat went absolutely dry as he thought to himself, in those breaches, gods, her legs might as well have been bare.
He shook his head hard in mortification and self-disgust as that thought made his mind conjure up images which were quite frankly very disrespectful to her and against his honor. She simply was not that kind of a woman; she was not some sort of courtesan. He quickly diverted his eyes from her, forcing himself not to even look in her direction. Looking at the floor, he pulled a chair for her. She sat down quietly and let out a sigh of relief.
He felt concerned, that sigh from her made him worried. He went over to another table and poured her a goblet of wine, the weakest wine he had, she must be thirsty, he thought. He walked back to her and that was the very moment Rhaegar had gotten the biggest shock of his life. Said shock was sitting at his table flicking her fingers at a quill.
In the golden flickering glow of the candles, the flashing white bursts of lightening and the darkness and shadows of the chamber swimming around the lone figure sitting at his table, Rhaegar thought he saw a goddess. Suddenly, he felt numb to everything, the cracking thunder and howling winds, the chill of the room, the slight warmth from the flames, the sloshing goblet in his hand, everything felt distant. All he could focus on was her.
It couldn't be. This never happened to him before and frankly he was not expecting this. He cursed the croon back and forth twice in his mind yet he still couldn't look away from the exhausted and bored looking goddess before him. It really couldn't be. Nobody could be that beautiful, that perfect. It never happened.
Her face was something that could only be conjured by dreams, her face was something that bards would spend their entire lives writing songs about, her face was a sculptor's nightmare since nobody could capture that beauty and perfection, her face was haunting and inspiring, her face was something that kings would wage wars over. How could she be in his chambers? What did the mad croon do? Who was she and where did she come from, knowing the answers to those questions now became most important. But how could he ask her when the very sight of her had bewitched him where he stood. He was mesmerized.
She was breath taking. Her exquisite face had a symmetry to it which was unnatural. Dark hair pulled back from a soft, slightly oval and very feminine face. Her eyes were most familiar to him from before, he realized with a sharp twinge in his chest, those large heavily lashed and lidded golden eyes ignited the wildest of fires in men as did they haunted them. Her cheekbones were high and suited her soft face by giving them a very exotic look to her otherwise pale face; even the slight dark red scratches on her left cheekbone did not mar the ethereal quality of her face. Her nose was delicate and perfect, not too sharp and not too blunt, not too large and not too small, just perfect.
But it was that mouth of hers that stole his breath. Rhaegar felt heat licking his spine and his skin buzz with awareness, with anticipation, with arousal. Apart from her eyes, it was her mouth that held him captive. Her mouth was sinful and no lady in any court of any kingdom would have managed to survive without having a horde of suitors after her with a mouth that looked like that. Her lips were large, puffy, exquisitely shaped and were a luscious dark pink in color even in the low light of the room.
A dark part of his mind whispered, that was the mouth that uttered such filthy words and challenged him fearlessly. That same part of his mind was suggesting him all sorts of ways to shut that mouth if she were start her ranting again. There was something very arousing and passionate about bantering with her to tease both their minds and fanning whatever fire was brewing between them even if they had met not moments before. She was one of those things that came barely once in someone's lifetime. That part of his mind reasoned, he could just press his lips to hers and swallow whatever strings of words and obscenities that would spill from that delicious mouth.
Her mouth would be sweet, warm, soft and would battle his own lips as was her nature. There was a cut on her lower lip, a slight cut; it did nothing to dissuade the effect those lips had on him. If anything, those lips mesmerized him more with that cut on them. He wondered if she would gasp and shrink back if he brushed that cut ever so lightly preferably with his own tongue.
He hadn't felt such stirring in him in years and definitely not since that old croon's meeting. He was far too busy with his planning, tensions and the horrifying and melancholic state his father was leaving the kingdoms in to even think about women, his mind did not allow his sexual appetite to surface and he was fine with his celibacy.
Men have needs; that was the truth, but practicing self-control and controlling oneself was most essential lesson a man needed to learn, especially if he wanted to maintain his honor. As a crown prince and as his father wished his education to be, he had been taught the art of lovemaking when he had been just a boy of three and ten.
To be accurate it was on his thirteenth namesday that his father had brought for him a beautiful and most experienced courtesan to his bedchambers in King's Landing just as the sun set over the horizon. His father ordered Rhaegar to learn and learn well from her otherwise it was most definitely the whore's fault as opposed to the crown prince's; the consequence would be that the whore would be replaced by someone less faulty and the method of replacement was beheading of course.
Back then Rhaegar did as he was ordered and learnt well, but somewhere along the three days of lessons, he came to a line of thought that the whore as she was, was still one of his subjects and even though he did not want a mistress, he would be sure to send her away with a substantial sum of gold and to whichever destination he wanted under his protection.
He thought wrong and those days of misunderstanding ended. On the fourth day, his father summoned the woman to inquire after his son's recently learnt skill sets, after which his father proceeded to experience from her what she taught, which was fine with her, but she never left the Red Keep alive. From what Rhaegar had learnt of later, his father made sure that the girl did not leave nor live with the precious Targaryen seed in her. Targaryens did not soil their name or bloodlines by planting their seeds in whores and women of lesser bloodlines.
Rhaegar was taught that he was free to sleep with whomever he pleased, but if it was a whore, the whore needed to be disposed of properly after he was done with her. With noble women he was allowed to wait and see if the seed took hold of before any such actions were taken. Rhaegar had long ago decided not to dishonor any woman noble or otherwise to sate his appetite, even before his thirteenth namesday. His honor forbade it.
What his father ordered was actually a rite of passage to manhood for almost all the sons born to noble families, so he complied and he only complied because his partner had been an experienced courtesan who was not a young girl, she was a woman who knew what she was getting into. He had sworn to himself to never touch another woman in such a way other than his wife.
Whatever he learned from the courtesan, he would use to please his lady wife some day; that had been his naïve dream. His father taught his the horrific truth and the facts of life, his father's lessons had driven the point hard in his heart and mind. Rhaegar's love or his affections in any form for any woman came with dire consequences, consequences he would not be facing, but the woman who had his attentions.
Lust after that had never been a problem for him neither had attraction. Simply because he did not feel so with any woman he met. None of them fascinated him and he treated them with complete respect, polite, distant and very detached charms. He did not offend any woman but neither did he allow them to come close or befriend him.
It must have been a first. No, it was definitely a first for anyone to find Rhaegar Targaryen stunned speechless standing gawping rudely. But there he was and there she was who made it happen. To Rhaegar it was both timelessness and centuries swimming by him bottled tightly in those dark moments. To him, there was nothing but him and her and that was the kind of beauty one could only find in poetry. That was the kind of attraction that should exist between a man and a woman, he thought.
Unfortunately, it was not so for the object of his fascination and dare he say, his muse. She looked at him owlishly for a moment. Blinking those liquid gold eyes and waiting; a breath and two yet he remained bewitched. Another moment and then one of those exquisitely shaped dark brows hitched up in a look that was purely degrading, yet he stared at her like a fool. Another moment and her jaw tightened and that mesmerizing mouth tightened; if anything it made him stare more and made his throat dry.
Then, finally the spell broke in a moment of horror and all he felt was all the blood in his body rushing to his face. Her face was twisted up in a snarl that made him jump and her voice was nothing short of fierce as she berated him, "What is it? Something on my face or have you never seen a girl before?"
He hurried over to the table and thank the gods that he didn't trip over his own feet or slosh down the wine. He placed the goblet near her clenched fists and like a scolded child he stared sheepishly at his feet to avoid looking at the glowering face before him. He cursed himself in his mind, this was unacceptable for a man of his station. Utterly undignified, he knew he was red in the face as he managed to stutter out an apology and a flimsy excuse, "I…ah apologize, my lady. I was lost in thought."
She gave him a look that contained all the frost of the North and retorted snootily, "Right and staring at me like I am a five course meal and you have been starving for weeks is just how you think, isn't it?"
So he did what all those years of princely upbringing prompted him to do. He languidly took a seat and gave her his most charming smile, the one that always worked and went with the undisputable truth, "Forgive me, my lady. I was stunned by your beauty."
What he thought with utter male satisfaction and more than a little pride was that he would see her eyes flutter with a little surprise and pleasure and those pretty cheeks flush a pretty pink with feminine delight because of his honest and bold confession. He had wanted to push her to her limits and see her react to him. See her react to him as a woman would, acknowledge the attraction he felt for her and perhaps show her own feelings as well.
Unfortunate, he did not get what he had wanted and fortunately this woman kept on surprising her over and over again. She reacted in ways that were beyond just unpredictable and it kept him on his very toes. He looked at her with a little discomfort as her face went completely still and her warm golden eyes hardened to glinting gold as she regarded him for a moment with a chilling gaze. Her voice was calm and soft, but her words were stinging, "That is insulting. I look however I look, I was born with it. What if I had a huge scar on my face or was born completely disfigured, would you still have stared at me so rudely then?"
There was a dose of some sort of horrific truth in her words and it hit him like those violent waves of the water the crashed upon the rocks of Dragonstone during a storm. He felt like a cruel boy who poking a wounded animal. Something twisted in his stomach and he could feel his face growing completely hot as it dawned on him that he had truly insulted a lady with his boldness. He leaned up and all the breath left him in a loud whoosh as he sputtered at her, defensively and profusely, "No, of course not, my lady. I was just…"
She did not let him finish let alone give him a chance to redeem himself. Her voice was steel as she ripped into him with the relish of a lioness ripping into the jugular of a doe, "No, you were not doing anything. You did not think on your insensitive actions. I could be beautiful or ugly or even plain, you do not get to stare at me like I am some kind of show for your entertainment."
Unfortunately for him her words were true and not just in his case, it was the way of all men. They stared at the opportunity of every pretty face they came across and it was even true in the matter of ugly and misfortunate faces. But how could he explain let alone make her believe that he did not think so low of her or so high of himself as to consider her nothing more than a toy for his entertainment?
He let out a loud sigh as he fell back against his seat with a little defeat. He had no defense against her barb-like words. He just looked into her eyes, unblinkingly. Purple on gold, he simply said with utter sincerity and wishing it would reach across to her, "I truly did not mean to offend."
Something in her softened but she still held strong, her voice soft, "But you did."
He watched her drop her gaze to the table and her hands; those long dark lashes of her hiding her golden gaze from his and fanning across her pale cheeks. She was twisting a ring on her finger over and over again. He apologized to smooth things over for everything about him that offended her, "For that I apologize, my lady. I swear I will make it up to you."
She gave him a quick glance and it was like a pulse in him. Her eyes held a little mischief and it warmed him, but that was nothing compared to the hot stirring in him as he saw her full lips curve up into a little smirk, "We'll see."
He liked her fire; it was refreshing. But there was only so much he was willing to be burned by it. He understood her position and her situation and was accepting of her being on the offensive about everything, but she kept on twisting his words around and making him feel low. She had to see his logic too if she wanted him to see hers. She needed a taste of her own medicine. This was not about petty vengeance though. It was about him finally having someone to spar with, mentally and verbally speaking. He decided that for now he had enough of her fire. She had good reasoning and even greater determination to follow through that line of thinking. She was a passionate creature, no doubt about that. But did she only see her own reasoning; see only shades of the blacks and whites by her own standard; was she a hypocrite?
So, he offered her his own observations and his own line of reasoning and he offered it boldly and with utter honesty. He tilted his head to the side and rested his cheek on a closed fist and regarded her with half-closed brooding violet eyes as he asked her, "You cannot blame people for being in awe of you though. You are blessed with beauty, many aren't so lucky. Haven't you gotten used to this 'staring' as you put it, as you grew up? I thought you would have many admirers."
He was left reeling when she slammed her hands with a remarkable amount of force on the table. The sound ringing in his ears and making him rigid with tension; he felt a sense of impending doom, not because of the violence of it but because of the chaotic and fearsome rage shining out of her golden eyes.
She leaned in and seethed at him, each word slipping out of her lips like the sweetest of poisons, "You presumptuous little turd! Who gave you the right to assume such things? Have you ever lived the life of a woman? No. Of course you fucking haven't. You are a prince, a crown prince who gets whatever he wants and is always protected, safe and with a hell of lot of power at the very tips of his fingers. Nobody would dare do anything to you."
He wanted to fight back and tell her that he had always had to be utterly vigilant. He had never been safe, not truly and he wanted to spill out every detail about having the Mad King as a father but he couldn't and he didn't; because she didn't let him utter a single word. Her eyes were burning into him and he wanted to know everything about her, figure out the enigma before him. More than anything he wanted, no he needed to know what exactly made this fierce creature before him this chaotic and what moved her to breathe fire like a dragon.
She continued to volley one bard after another at him, giving him no room to recover and send him spinning into one horror to another, "Have you ever had to be intimidated by a single unwavering disgusting look from a person ten times stronger than you?"
He hadn't and he knew facing an opponent in a sparring match wasn't what she was talking about. She asked again, "Have you ever had to feel like you were worth nothing because people would rather look at you than hear you speak what you had to say?"
No, he hadn't. He was the crown prince. People always wanted to hear his opinions on everything. It was one of the things his own father hated about him. His presence threatened his power. But he knew that most men considered women to be meek creatures to be only looked at because they were pretty and never to be heard from. He felt a little indignation on her behalf if she had to suffer like that.
She searched him, and this time her own question gave him an answer to what kind of a woman she was, "Have you ever had to prove to the extremes that you do have a mind and you know how to use it, that you are more than a pretty face?"
She was a formidable opponent. She clearly had a difficult life proving herself to her peers and he suddenly admired and respected her a little for it. There was so much, much more he needed to know about her. There was a strength in her that overwhelmed him. He had never met a stronger woman. She even managed to turn her own vulnerability into her strength.
There was a fierce anger in her gaze but he knew it wasn't for him. The distant anger in her eyes was for someone else, or maybe for the situations she had had to face before she stumbled into his life. Her words invoked the same kind of anger in him and he knew better than most how women suffered at the hands of monsters. Growing up he had seen his own mother and countless other women suffer at his fathers hands and he knew quite intimately and with great familiarity the naked fear that resided within their eyes.
She asked him, her voice but a soft whisper, "Have you ever had to run off to a safe corner and still shake knowing that there was someone out there who would rip into you to get their share of sick pleasure? Have you ever had to stand before many of your friends and family in a joyous occasion and smile even though you know there are people around, your acquaintances even who are imagining you naked and in the most depraved of ways? Have you ever had to experience any of that simply because you have a pretty face? How could you have the gall to call any of that a blessing?"
He didn't have any words for her let alone any sort of answer. What could he say to such horrific feelings she had been bearing for nearly as long as she lived? Knowing that she couldn't feel safe even amongst her own, that was a devastating blow to anyone. He knew that she was not the only exception who had gone through such horrors. Women all over the world went through this depravity and perversions of greater scales.
Something in him just knew instantly that she was speaking on all their behalves and not her own. She was not the type of timid and docile woman who would tolerate anyone's depravity. She would fight back and eliminate all threats to her. She was the kind of woman who jumped to save others in trouble even at the cost of harming herself in the process. She was brave and had more honor than most men he knew.
Ironically, that was how she had ended up here with him; she tried to save an old lady and fought her attackers to only be ambushed by the same old lady and be the victim to her crazy games. So he offered her feeble words to convey that he did understand her, "I know I have not experienced any such thing and I completely understand your fears, my lady, but…"
She had her eyes closed shut, seemingly bottling in all the emotions that had been spilling out of her and composed herself behind a calm mask when she had but opened her eyes. She told him in a no-nonsense manner and it pulled at him how she had dismissed him completely, "But nothing and you really do not understand anything. And I am not taking my anger of such deprave men and their depravity on you. I am not ranting about that and please don't think so. What I am offended about is how I knew right by the look on your face that you are judging me and making assumptions of me by how I look."
He felt his ears burn. He frowned at the surface of the table. What she was saying held some truth, actually they held a lot of truth, but only about his assumption. He did judge her. But he knew with every blood in his body that he would never do so again. He really should not have expected her to be charmed by his compliments simply because she was beautiful neither should he have assumed that she was proud of how her beauty affected him like any other woman would have. She did not care about his station and neither did she acknowledge the attraction he felt for her.
She spoke to him softly; there was a great amount of comfort that she offered him in each word that spilled out her lips. Words of wisdom beyond her age and he would only admit to herself that there was a certain wounding experience that resided in her words that sent shivers down his spine. She knew exactly what she was talking about, "You should not be that shallow, prince or not. The most beautiful of people can be the cruelest and the ugliest of people can be the greatest of heroes. Always remember that there is more to a person than their looks and never let anybody's looks sway your thoughts and judgment."
But he remembered. How could he forget? Never before had someone reacted so violently to his appearance. It nauseated him how his face made her hate him. She had judged him the same way. She was being a hypocrite and made his teeth ache with a slowly building anger. How could she talk down on him when she had done the same thing? Why condemn him?
He gave her a sharp look and felt a wave of fury slid over him when he noticed that his looks had no effect on her. He told her coldly, "You did. You thought I was somebody dangerous because I have the Targaryen features."
He watched her closely. Waited for her to deny his accusation feverently and throw more fiery accusations his way. Scratch and prod at his flaws and faults. Turn a bright and unpleasant red before she became so angry that she would fight him back. But she surprised him once more.
She blinked once and let out a little sigh. She looked at him earnestly and spoke clearly and without any pretenses, "Yes, I did. But I also did not let the fact that you are Targaryen put you in the class of the mad, depraved and hostile individuals I need to stay away from. I gave you a chance because you are more than your white hair, purple eyes and your Targaryen name, even though I know you will make horrendous decisions in the future. Try not to though."
He felt light-headed. She had instantly wiped away any anger that had been in him with her simple, honest admittance, a hidden apology and a true explanation that even he couldn't deny. A smile, despite his best efforts, worked itself onto his face. There was something else though, something he had trouble even admitting to himself; those words, about giving him a chance despite his heritage; that meant a lot more to him than anything else. It was what he craved for; it was what he wished for from all the people in the Seven Kingdom. To be seen as more than the son of the Mad King.
He wanted a chance before people condemned him for the actions of his father. It might not have meant a great deal to her, but it meant a lot to him and she was the first person to give him that. He felt a small thin ray of light in the bleak and dark abbeys of his mind and heart. She gave him that and he owed her for it. It was hope. If she could see him as more than a Targaryen who could turn mad at any moment, then so could another person.
His voice was deep as he looked at her with all the intensity he felt in that moment, hoping that she would feel the silent vow in his words, "Thank you. I will not make you regret your decision to give me a chance."
He could stare at those golden eyes for hours and go without words, he realized. She had the kind of eyes that read everything and missed nothing; his mind and soul were bare to her and he didn't mind it one bit. He felt content that for once he did not need to put up pretenses before someone. He was sure that she understood the depth of whatever he was feeling.
It turned out that merely because he had the patience to look into her eyes, she didn't. She rolled her eyes at him and dismissed him with a flick of her finger, mouthing off at him impertinently, "Don't worry your white hair off about my judgment and my second chances. You have far worse things to worry about."
Rhaegar couldn't help but smirk at her deflection. The topic at hand seemed too serious for the lady, so he gave into her like the gentleman he was. He cheeked right back, running a hand through said white hair and narrowing his dark gaze at her, "Yes, that maybe, my lady, but right at this moment my only priority is you and your welfare."
He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt a heady kind of rush and a bubbling sort of glee in his gut every time he said something which would make her agitated. He supposed it was juvenile of him and misconduct as a prince of the realm, but it was an irresistible impulse. He liked verbally sparring with her. So it was no surprise when he felt like smiling at her when she argued back, "It really is escaping your notice. Have you forgotten the so-called magical rip in the wall I tumbled out of? I am from another world and another time, hence I do not fall under your jurisdiction and so I am not your problem, man."
She had a strange manner of speech and usually such a thing would grate on his nerves or be a cause of seeing one below him, but with her it was the stark opposite. It was endearing. At least it was so when they were having an argument worth enjoying.
He did not forget her strange predicament and his curiosity about her and her world was overwhelming but he had the patience to deal with it. Quite a contrast to his impatient hellion of a guest. He spoke to her graciously, like the prince he was and hoped that she would understand that she meant more to him than just a problem. She was his guest and she would be given all rights, privileges, honor and protection that a guest of his would receive, "You are not a problem, let alone mine. Never think that. You are my guest and you will be treated accordingly. As it is, the welfare of my guests does fall under my jurisdiction."
She folded her arms like a child and it quirked up his lips into a smile to see those perfectly pink lips form a pout. Even her glaring did not rob him of his smile, what did rob him of his smile, make his ears burn red as well as his cheeks and his eyes to drop shamefully on the table was her folded arms. She had folded her arms right underneath her breasts, making them almost rise out of chemise. Just one look of those glowing white orbs in the light of the candles made his blood run hot and his mind run wild with amoral thoughts centering the woman before him.
He had never wanted a woman more and it made him feel like the worst sort of scum. He continued to stare at the table and tried his best to calm his blood as well as gain his control back. She did not need to see what sort of amorous thoughts ran in his mind. He couldn't afford to lose what little respect she had of him or whatever trust she may place in him.
His eyes, after a moment or two landed on the still untouched goblet before her. He frowned at it. Immediately he knew why. She was suspicious of him and anything that he had offered. It was quite possible that she thought he had poisoned the wine with something. It made something in him clench and he barely held in a flinch at that. Was it illogical of her to think so lowly of a Targaryen? He opened his mouth to offer that he take a sip first as proof, but as always, she noticed his dilemma and read his mind before he could even utter a word.
She said simply, "I don't drink."
He was puzzled. She didn't drink. How could a person not drink? Or was it something odd about her world? What was she? He repeated with an incredulous look, "You don't drink?"
She rolled her eyes at him and spoke slowly as if talking to a particularly dense child, "Alcohol. I don't drink alcohol of any kind. Besides from where I come, people need to be older to drink alcohol."
Alcohol? And what did age have anything to do with drinking wine? That too a watered down goblet of wine? Did her religion forbid it? Or did it harm her kind? The age thing still confused him; she was a grown woman. Why could she not partake in a little wine? He shook his head slightly and murmured, "I don't understand…"
She blinked once and then leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table before lightly clapping her hands together once. She was very, very unladylike. It suited her, he decided. She nodded at him and then continued on in a matter of fact tone, "Oh right, the whole different worlds, different lifestyles thing. I don't drink wine. I drink water, milk, fruit juices and maybe tea if it's sweet."
He was still confused. But what she offered was still more than what he knew moments ago and it was information about herself. He was more than content with that. He merely needed to get her a different sort of nourishment. He wondered idly if her choice in food was different as well. He looked at her and said solemnly, "You have different customs where you come from."
There was a wicked smirk on her lips which teased him more than he cared to acknowledge. She taunted him, "That was both a statement and a question. Now, you are very curious about my world."
He replied dryly yet his twinkling eyes gave away to his good humor, "You are right, my lady. Very astute of you."
She sniffed once and drawled back, "Not really. It is very obvious by both the situation and the look on your face."
He smirked at her, "Does it offend you, my curiosity? I won't question you; you have experienced far too much this day."
She shook her head, the light of the candle playing across her glossy dark hair. Her eyes glinted as she took one slow look at him. She looked very calculating then and her powers of observation once more impressed him when she told him blandly, "I don't mind your curiosity. Curiosity is good, it is a clear sign of an intelligent mind and you might say you won't question me now, but you will later and if I am in a good mood and your questions are not too prying, I will tell you about my world."
He smiled at her, "Very kind of you."
Nothing about him charmed her or warmed her. If anything she looked utterly bored as she started flicking at the quill again. She told him gravely, "Nope, just trying to be civil. Besides, I did say if I am in a good mood and trust me, finding me in a good mood is your own dilemma, I don't think I will be in a good mood very much or very often in this world."