just a little t e a s e (Rian)

[Edie]

Even after an encounter such as all that, following oh so soon after her tiresome journey, Theo still managed to maintain enough decorum to proceed down the hallway in an upright fashion. She gave a deep nod to each noble she passed; thankfully, t’was no one higher than herself in the space betwixt the entrance hall and her chambers. If there had been, she wasn’t entirely sure she could have managed the curtsy required without toppling over from exhaustion. She did succeed in reaching the room where she was to be staying, and without even the hint of improper conduct. Upon entering the room, however, the girl’s sense of posture disappeared entirely as she leaned heavily against the closed door.

She let out a long, measured sigh, and closed her eyes with no small amount of relief. Goodness. Somewhere in her planning, she seemed to have overlooked a rather far from trivial detail: there were, in fact, persons in this ridiculous country who refused to smile simply because manners dictated they should. And those persons were the bloody Nothams. If that wench’s words were any indication, then mayhaps this would be more difficult than she had anticipated. T’would be trying on her nerves, at the very least: what with the traveling and the, ahem, ‘discourse’, she was neigh ready to collapse. Yet there was still Rian to take care of.

The Countess opened her eyes, taking in the room with the quick blinks and darting glances she was known for. Adequate, she decided after a moment. There were allowances to be made, of course, given the unexpectedness of her visit and the meagerness of her title. Even so, t’was hardly something one would view with awe, now was it? Bloody Reginiens and their bloody cheap decorations. Rubbing her face, she called out wearily, “Lena? Jemmy?”

“Yes, Theo?” came the response, shortly followed by the appearance of the two women. They stood frankly; what respect and kindness that did show in their faces was genuine. Here, apart from the ever judgmental court, there was no need for frivolous gestures and titles. Here, she was simply a girl, and they the ladies who looked after her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, massaging her temples. “I’m certain I’ll feel better after freshening up a bit. Have they brought up any bath water yet?”

“It arrived right before you did, child,” the darker one—Lena—replied with a smile. Jemmy, slightly taller and more hardened then her open counterpart, nodded her confirmation. “Would you like help getting ready for your washing?”

“If you’d please,” Theo yawned delicately, allowing the women to lead her into the bathroom and onto a stool. Finally, she could sit for a moment. Sit, and think, and plot. She closed her eyes again, doing precisely just that as her companions busied themselves with filling the tub and the current, regrettable state of her hair. She listened to the gentle slooshing of water out of wooden buckets and into the ceramic bathtub, heard Jemmy's sighs as she fiddled with the disheveled dark strands.

“Isn’t any time to wash and restyle your hair completely,” Lena said, wiping her brow and setting the last bucket down. “A pity, given you’re to see that Princess sooner or later. But Jemmy thinks she could work with it, make you look respectable enough.”

“D’you have my hair pins, or are they still packed?” the girl asked, looking up at Jemmy. The hardened woman shook her head, before turning to go into the main room. “No, I’ll get them.” She stood up, and went over to her few carrying cases. The distance from one room to the other was great enough, and the box buried in the valise deep enough that she felt quite dizzy. She shook her head, in an attempt to ward off the faint sun spots glimmering before her eyes. No, there was absolutely no time for that, she had too much to do. Besides, how would he react if she did something so typically feminine as to faint?

She was able to retrieve the box and make her way back to her stool with very little wobbling; though the Countess saw her maids frown slightly, Lena said nothing. As Jemmy began sorting through the toiletries, Theo directed her attention to the darker woman. “Has there been any news from the men?”

“Only that Niko near got into a fight with one of the groomsmen,” she replied, chuckling. “Galan and Hector managed to hold him back, if just barely. He’s a fiery one, our Niko.”

“Did he reveal what provoked him?”

Lena hesitated briefly, though those few seconds were enough to tell the girl what had happened. Sighing, she inquired, “Which moniker was it this time—bastard? Silian bitch? Love child? Or was it my personal favourite, infant harlot? Now, that one was a real treat; who knew duchesses capable of such vocabulary?”

“No need to be on the defensive with me, child,” the woman rebuked her, firmly but gently. “But I believe the word was merely ‘bastard’.”

Resting her elbows on the dressing table, Theo grumbled, “Typical. One can’t expect creativity from anyone these days, least of all Reginiens, now can one?” She looked in the mirror, and caught a glimpse of Jemmy’s dubious expression as she continued to pick at her travel-worn hair. She sighed again. “Just put it up. Put all of it up, please. It has been four years since I became a woman in the eyes of the law. Might as well start looking it, before I start to believe I’m still just a lass.”

Jemmy tsked, before she began doing what the girl requested. Lena squeezed her shoulder. “No point in crying 'bout the past, Theo. What's done is done, horrible it may be."

She laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, Lena. You know I never cry any more. Have you eaten since we arrived?"

“Not yet, but no matter. There will be time for that later.”

The Countess waved her hand, as the brush ripping through her hair prevented any head shaking. “There’s time for that now. Why don’t you see if you can get anything from the kitchens for yourself and the men. Please bring something back for Jemmy as well.” The aforementioned picked at a particularly nasty tangle in gratitude, and she winced before adding, “Oh, and Lena...please do make sure Hector hasn’t apologized for Niko’s actions, would you?”

The darker woman grinned, the ruthless look in her eyes matching that of her charge’s intentions. “Gladly, Theo,” she replied, before exiting.

Once the clicking of the door closing indicated her counterpart had gone, Jemmy, with a frown, pulled a piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper from out of her skirts. With deliberate concentration, she wrote:

Do I want to know what you’re up to?

Theo read the note quietly, her expression betraying none of her thoughts. Then, in a careful tone, she said steadily, “No more than I want to know the reason as to why you’ve lost your speech, Jemmy.”

The hardened woman remained motionless for a rather tense moment, her eyes fixed on the girl’s. Then, finally, came her answer.

So be it.

Silently—though there were scarce other options as to how Jemmy could be—she resumed the unenviable task of fixing Theo’s windswept hair. The girl herself dug through the box of toiletries, searching for a stick of kohl, or some rouge at the very least. If one was going to have to suffer through some thoroughly married looking hairstyle, then one might as well go all the way and consider painting one’s face like a courtesan or player, now mightn’t one?

The Count’s household staff numbered in the forties, but the Countess considered only five servants to be her own. Only five persons were truly willing to assist her, care for her, keep her secrets rather than rush straight off for her husband. And really, why shouldn’t they? Galan and Lena, Hector and Jemmy, Niko...she had a certain affection towards all of them. She had discovered, upon being sold into marriage, that the Count was a base, vile man in more regards than one: if one of his staff was found guilty of some offense or other, he’d deal with the matter in the the old way. And unfortunately for dear Galan, Niko, and Jemmy, ‘the old way’ entailed chopping out the offender’s tongue. She thought this a perfect metaphor for her life at twelve—though, granted, her grasp of literary devices at that age was clumsy at best. After all, had not Daddy dearest attempted to silence her by forcing her upon the cur?

Regardless. It so came to pass that though the other men and women might flinch when these assumed criminals or one of their partners approached, Theo found herself fascinated. They, in turn, noted a girl whose unfortunate lack of naivety had merely led to an internal hardening and developing determination. Galan and Lena, Hector and Jemmy, Niko...they had stood in for her family admirably, and she did love them for that. Though t’was best on the whole that no one realize her to be capable of such a thing.

All five were literate; she had taught them herself. Mother had always said she was most clever with words, hadn’t she? And she had discovered there wasn’t much to do as a wife, save for dressing up to impress others—and dressing down for him to have his way with her. So she needed something to occupy her time, and what better occupation then to bring communication back into the lives of three of her five? Made them wonderful spies, as well, since seldom does one assume a creature of the lower class to be learned in letters.

Jemmy tapped her shoulder to indicate her work was finished, and the girl looked up at her reflection. T’was a credit to the woman’s skills, one had to admit; she’d scarcely worked on it for quarter of an hour, yet her dark tresses had been arranged into a mass of waves and pins. Made her look quite grown up—regrettably. Still, t’was better to greet him as a woman than as a scarecrow, now wasn’t it?

“Thank you, Jemmy,” Theo said politely as she stood, leaving the makeup alone. Astonishingly, her daring had failed her in this regard: she was unwilling to age herself anymore than was completely necessary. Leave the paints to concubines like Lady Notham, that t’was the thing to do. “Would you please get my dressing gown?”

A dubiously raised eyebrow was the only response she received as the woman complied to her request. The Countess examined herself in the mirror once more, before shaking her head and beginning to undo the many tiny buttons on her dress. Gown, chemise, petticoats, shoes, stockings...she shed it all, with the assistance of her hardened maid, before slipping into the retrieved wrap. If her goal had been to titillate, then Theo would have failed in that regard: the silvered robe covered her completely, leaving one utterly free to imagine exactly what occured betwixt her neck and feet. But her wardrobe was entirely this modest, all long sleeves and high necklines; ta ever so, Count, for that particular preference.

KNOCKNOCKNOCK.

Theo jerked upright, her weariness replaced by excitement. Excitement she would have to conceal, lest arouse his suspicions. Turning to Jemmy, she said calmly, “I’ll get that,” and strode through the chambers before she could register whatever disapproving emotions were on the woman’s face. Pausing briefly, she yanked the doors open, and sunk into a curtsy.

“Prince.”

OOC: FFFFFFFF I’m sorry, I realize you’re in a shit ton of threads right now, so feel free to ignore this one for the time being. It's just Jarvis is being a fickle kinda whore at the moment, and Theo's been prattling on in my head since Saturday. Hence the need to write this, and hence the length. ><

[Mimi]

He was surprised, to say the least, though his initial reaction to the news was...minimal at best. A stoic nod and a terse word to indicate that yes, he'd heard and that yes, he'd be paying her a visit and that yes, he hadn't forgotten his later audience with the doctor as he'd so conveniently done the day before and -- dear god, Rian often found himself wondering who was the monarch, him or one of those unfortunately staid generals and chamberlains and what have you in "his" (or more accurately, his father's) employment. It was strange, really, him being the heir apparent and yet having only nominal power. At times, it made him ache for the throne all that much more.

The servant, following the revelation, had stared at him strangely for half a second longer with something like concern and something like -- what? Curiosity? Judgement? Rian didn't have the patience to find out and, with a sharp, noncommittal wave, sent him on his way. The man softly touched the door close with a subservient nod as he'd back out, leaving Rian alone once again with his whiskey, his half-lit room, and his musings.

Musings indeed, and because he was who he was and he knew Silians were who they were, he couldn't help but suspect that she hadn't come for a mere tour of the countryside or to attend the regale at the end of the week. No, she had a purpose - must have had a purpose - else there was no reason for her to leave the comforts of home (as meager as they were for someone in her...delicate situation). A frown wrinkled his otherwise handsome face, bordering on a scowl, and Rian heaved himself from the chair, for he had been in the middle of his midday drink when the servant had so rudely interrupted.

He passed a hand over his face as a reveler might have done with his masque but this one was by no means meant for merriment, and if one looked closely, one could have already seen the fatigued cracks working its way slowly, but surely, across his face. He frowned again at the thought. Sooner or later, he would be no better off than that fool of a prince Berlus, and then where would he be? With his grey hair and wrinkles...oh, the thought was enough to make him shudder. That seemed to be one of the few benefits of an early death: he would never have to suffer old age's fury.

Running a hand through his hair while his other set down the near empty goblet of wine, Rian shifted to the washing basin. His hands moved half-heartedly across the surface, to the pitcher of water, and it was a strange, disembodied feeling as he did so as -- a detached, indolent mood that was overtaking him more and more often and that worried him far more than the near hemorrhages were. Sick, he could still do his duties, but he wouldn't be very well able to do anything if he simply did not care anymore.

He leaned into the edge of the bureau and blindly splashed the cold water over his face and neck in an attempt to liven up his otherwise dead demeanor. An electrified tingle instantly shot through his body upon contact, and though it faded just as quickly as it came, a sense of alertness settled in its place alongside the familiar aching in his chest that returned at the slightest sign of soberness. Or, perhaps it wasn't the pain that was going and coming but his mind.

Rian grabbed the nearby towel and dabbed at the still droplets after which he ran a comb through his hair, slicking it back and hopefully making himself look at the very least half-presentable. No sooner had he finished, however, than he was reminded of his unfitness. There was a nauseated pause. He lowered his head as if in piety and clenched his hands as his knuckles turned a sickeningly pale color. He gagged, and before he could hold it back, frothy, bright blood spewed into the basin, but just a measure, as he forced himself to swallow the rest. It went down uneasily, a disgustingly salty and warm mixture, and it wouldn't be for another few minutes until he was able to straighten - a good deal paler now than he was before - and take up the bowl of rose water to the side.

He paused again as the room shifted before his eyes, and he seemed to sway where he stood, just as shaken as a leaf in the wind, but with renewed determination, he reaffirmed his grip on the bowl and poured the sweetly scented liquid into his mouth. With eyes closed, he swished the perfumed water around for a solid two minutes before leaning forward and spitting it into the basin already holding his blood. The red swirled with noisome ease, and Rian watched it until he could watch no longer and, adjusting the collar of his wear, left the confines of his increasingly dreary quarters.

The stretch to Theo's rooms was thankfully uneventful, save for the servant who had tailed Rian a good quarter of the way inquiring on his appetite, his sallow color, his as of late reclusive behavior when off duty, his -- Well, it went on like so until Rian finally lashed out against him in a fury of threats and words, and the servant, humbled, diffidently crept away.

The rest of the way, Rian reflected on his prior relationship with the now sixteen-year-old (was it sixteen?) Countess, for their last encounter had been more than three years ago. She had left a year earlier than he had, chained to a new maste -- or rather, husband, and they hadn't spoken since. Christian would surely be jubilant to hear of her arrival; he'd always adored the girl much more than was socially acceptable though Rian suspected part of that adoration stemmed from pity for her less-than-respectable birth and now marriage.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he nearly passed her door and had to backtrack a few paces. He cleared his throat, frowning again as his mind touched upon the reasons for her sudden and unwarranted visit to this sump of a country, and gingerly but firmly knocked.

The sound seemed to echo in the vast and currently deserted halls.

"Prince."

Rian started, a bit taken aback by the quickness with which the door was opened, and he bit back the urge to greet the Countess with a blunt "what are you doing here?" From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the servant and grudgingly decided to leave the questions for later.

Affecting a courteous half-smile, Rian bowed just slightly and returned, "Countess. How fare thee? It has been...too long, though I must admit your unannounced appearance here took me by surprise."

Leaning down, he lightly grasped Theo's hand and brushed his lips against it as was customary when greeting a female relative following an extended absence.

Straightening, he sniffed a bit contemptuously at catching sight of her choice of clothing, for though Rian adamantly opposed the opposite sex, he figured that if he had to live with them, they might as well dress pleasantly to his eye, and Theo's combination of an upswept hairstyle and conservative clothing gave the impression of a thirty-year-old rather than that of a sixteen-year-old. There was an urge to tease the girl but again, catching sight of the servant, he figured such matters might be best and more candidly addressed when alone.

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[Edie]

She was a lucky little wretch, in all honesty: if he had greeted her coldly, or bluntly, or in any other manner indicating their prior familiarity, then Theo would have though she could trust the Prince. If t’were the case, she’d undoubtedly have proceeded in making a fool of herself by coming right out with her reasons for coming to Regina at this precise time, thus losing any sort of advantage she may have over him in this instance. One was not to reveal the entirety of one’s plans at the slightest provocation—any conjurer of cheap tricks would tell one that. Lucky little wretch, indeed, that Rian had responded as courteously and distantly as he would to any other person he was less than willing to see. His courtly salutations were sufficient to chill her to a more manageable state of being, turn her from giddiness to cunning. And she’d require all the wits she possessed to persuade him into—well.

True, she smiled slightly when his hand clasped hers, but the threateningly sentimental expression was soon replaced by a smirk when his mouth ever so briefly pressed against her skin. The girl made no attempt to conceal the expression, as it was made up of detached relief and the security of secrets—security in that for all his theories and analysis, there was no way for him to determine the precise reasons for her smirk. How she was pleased to note she felt no sense of arousal at the sensation of his lips brushing ‘gainst her hand, and that even the thought of Rian ‘s lips on more, er, intimate parts of her anatomy was more likely to make Theo yawn in ennui than blush optimistically. Hence her relief: she already had a regrettably sensual relationship, and the whole point was that she was not looking for another. Lovely, really, to have confirmation her feelings for her half-brother were platonic, albeit in an altered way.

He stood, and the Countess rose with him; she would have needed to be some sort of deaf, dumb, and blind urchin not to pick up on his obvious disgust with her appearance. She touched her hair self-consciously, immediately regretting the action. It was her desire to avoid displays of weakness, was it not? But of course, seeing as there was little chance of having an equal conversation with the Prince if she revealed any. T’was his nature, to pick up on one’s flaws in order to rip one to shreds at the slightest provocation. So she did her best to pretend the fiddling was intentional, that she was not displeased with how she may appear but merely checking that all her bloody curls and hair ornaments had remained in place.

Besides. She had more pressing matters to take into consideration than fretting over how neither of them particularly liked her most aging hairstyle or justifying her reasons for wearing no more than her dressing gown. And what was it to him how she looked, what injuries would she cause him by not dressing like every other harlot found in this court or that? Did he honestly expect her to have maintained the same attitude and attire she’d possessed as a child, when she still stumbled over seven syllable words and trailed after him and Christian like the human equivalent of a misplaced mutt? He was no longer the same, and whilst she did not begrudge him that, she’d expect him to at the very least have the graciousness to grant her the same.

Ah. But that was the issue in itself, was it not? Rian hadn’t grown up into one particularly fond of manners, save for when interacting with strangers. Much as she might loath the idea she’d become one of those in his particularly narrow view of things, his method of expressing salutations at the very least hinted he might consider her so. It was in her best interest to make him realize as soon as possible that she was nothing of the kind, that they in fact knew each other, and she was not about to put up with any of his bloody nonsense. T’was apparent the best way to do that was to be cordial right back.

The Countess stepped back slightly, and adopted an exaggerated pose; with one hand pressed to her bosom and the other holding out the skirt of her robe, pale blue eyes wide and mouth in a simpering smile, she resembled nothing more than a player using the broad, stylized commedia dell’arte method of acting. “Why, Prince, how simply delightful of thee to inquire after mine own well being!” she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. “Seeing as we have not set eyes upon one another in ever so endless a duration of time, I do fear my honest answer to your query would last far longer than you would have the patience to listen to; therefore, I do request that you permit me to simplify my response to a mere ‘Fine. And thee?’.”

She giggled, like some foolish maiden, and shifted her pose into one of girlish shock. Pouting, she continued, “Now, whatever am I to believe you to be implicating, given you’ve managed it far too subtly for my feminine wits to comprehend? Canst not a married woman take a vacation away from her beloved husband without the entire world wondering at her reasons for doing so? Would it have suited thine nerves better not to have been surprised, Prince? How silly of me, not to take them into consideration before planning my travels.”

Goodness, was she laying it on thick now; the girl could see Jemmy out of the corner of her eye, and the way the woman was trembling was the way she shook whilst concealing amusement. But that was her intention, was it not? To make him aware she was at the very least disappointed by how formally and unfamiliarly he had greeted her. And one couldn’t expect her half-brother to pick up on everything—he could be ever so dense, when he wished it. Yet ever so obvious, in how he had kept glancing over her shoulder and at her maid. So Theo swept round, placing a hand on the woman’s quivering shoulder. “Wouldst thou prefer I bid Jemmy leave us?” she asked brightly. “I am more than willing to do such a thing, though I will acknowledge the notion you may perhaps be thankful for her presence after a moment or two.

“Besides,” she added, with an attempt at thoughtlessness, “Jemmy won’t talk—can’t.”

The mute servant subtly—and rather painfully—pinched at her, where Rian couldn’t see. Looking up, the Countess could see the woman’s hardened face was fighting a smile. She’d always been a sadistic sort of creature, our Jemmy, and she most of all the servants understood her mistress’s humour.

Theo gave the woman’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, before stepping forward again. Quirking a brow—the first inclination of her true nature since she had opened the door—she said sweetly, “Furthermore. I doubt very much you’re up to helping me dress after my bath, so keeping my servant present would be in both of our interests, would it not, Prince?”

[Mimi]

Something...something was out of place; Rian had suspected so at the very beginning, but the brief smirk he'd caught in straightening confirmed it. Immediately, he was annoyed. At present, his life was complicated enough without having a sixteen-year-old girl romping through and adding to the general entropy of things. Not that he found her unbearable, exactly; in fact, he probably tolerated her most aside from Christian, but at the end of the day, she was still woman, and women were bothersome, trying, annoying. If she could not be here, then he preferred that she wasn't, but seeing as she already was, he didn’t have much choice. He'd leave the "i am prince, and you must obey my orders" card for later use.

Her hand reaching up and brushing against her hair made him briefly wonder if she'd caught wind of his disapproval, and while he hoped she did, there was still a tinge of irritation at himself. Was he so obvious? On the other hand, if it would incite her to change, then by all means, he would be blunt and harsh. She was used to it by now, and something told him it might be the only way he would persuade her to leave. "Reduce her to tears" -- that'd always been something of a guideline with him in severing ties with this woman or that; they seldom returned after reaching that point. It was a good plan, though he did hope he did not have to resort to it with the countess. Crying was such a messy thing.

Rian raised his brow questioningly and with slight incredulity as she stepped back, suspicious as he was, and at first the exaggerated pose did not quite register with him. Hm, being formal with him was she? That was all well and fine; he was not expecting such adherence to etiquette, but considering the situation, he supposed such was proper and fitting. If she was willing to be civil with him, then he supposed he'd muster up what little patience was left and be civil with her. Once, however, she opened her mouth with that simpering (and pathetic) look on her face, invoking another badly-concealed, skeptical double take for the half-second he still believed her sincere, the hope for any such civility all but vanished, and it took nearly everything just not to effect a disgusted scowl.

“Why, Prince, how simply delightful of thee to inquire after mine own well being!”

'Delightful'? Rian frowned before resorting to the facade of indifference he oft adopted when confronting something offensive to his person or displeasing in general. She was determined to make a fool of him, it seemed, but behind the initial, silent flare of rage, there was a tinge of exasperation, that general feeling of being... weighed down, jaded. Honestly, he'd been coughing out a lung just moments prior, and now he had to deal with this? He considered the two options he had at the moment: interrupt and put her in her place immediately or humor her, let her finish and think she was being clever before reminding her exactly who she was in his eyes -- but a little girl with hardly enough worth to demand an audience with him. It was the hard truth, half-sister or not; she belonged to her husband now, and the fact that she did manage to travel without him at once garnered some very base level of consideration for the boldness of the act (despite it coming from a woman) and condemnation (because it came from a woman). Did His Highness even know of this? His eyes narrowed slightly as she continued on with her fabricated spiel.

The giggle in particular grated his nerves the wrong way not so much because she did it as because he was in no mood to put up with such foolishness, and part of the reason he'd even agreed to come see her right then and there was because he'd believed she'd spare him such insipidity. Whether it was real or not hardly made a difference in his mind.

Rian ran a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly bored with Theo's little display of coquetry. He supposed that she'd noticed his preoccupation with her maid, for right around then, she pivoted around and touched the other woman's shoulder. Rian returned his attention to the scene before him with a deadpan glare.

“Wouldst thou prefer I bid Jemmy leave us?”

He almost wanted to hiss "yes", but that train of thought was interrupted by what the Countess said next which elicited no visible reaction aside from a shifting of weight from the right side to the left but Rian, in reality, was just slightly short of livid. Insinuations. These feminine insinuations and wiles -- he hated nothing else with so much persistence, not even the gypsies, an intense hate of whom his father had tried to instill in him (and failed) at a young age.

“Furthermore. I doubt very much you’re up to helping me dress after my bath, so keeping my servant present would be in both of our interests, would it not, Prince?”

Rian looked up, smiling sweetly in response as she stepped forward, and he was silent a moment or two, as though formulating the proper response, before he likewise stepped forward, smile still present but slightly altered now to reflect the intimidating malice underneath.

"Well, Countess, dear sister. I so appreciate your concerns for my interests..."

And now, quite near to her, he suddenly and roughly pushed against her shoulder with one hand, intending for her to lose to balance and to drive her back. Of course, he hoped it hurt as well, but one wouldn't have everything, now could one? His smile had completely vanished with that one action, replaced with a derisive sneer.

"...but mock me again, and I shall have you returned to your husband quicker than you can protest it."

That said, Rian strode quickly into the room, intentionally knocking into Theo as he did so, and leaned against the window sill, placing both hands on either side of the fixture. His knuckles had turned white with the force with which he gripped them, and it was partly because of anger but mostly because of the raw feeling of abrasion in his lungs that foretold another hemorrhage. The tension mounted as he refused to address Theo further before, as quickly as it came on, it disappeared, and he loosened his grip with a vexed sigh.

He still faced the window rather than her, but he finally growled, "Out. I want her out of here. I doubt she would very much enjoy the words I have for you next."

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