Vivienne snorted before she could stop herself. "You really want to compare the Neville house to the Duvall estate."
He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "I was trying to act modest."
"You're failing at it."
"I will work on my modesty then," he said solemnly, and the corner of his mouth twitched as they walked side by side into the dining room.
The long table gleamed under crystal lights, polished to a mirror shine. Servants moved silently, setting plates, pouring wine, pretending not to listen while listening to everything.
Charles took his seat beside his father, posture easy. Vivienne sat beside her mother, smoothing her dress over her knees, aware suddenly of everything. Her breathing. The way her fingers curled in her lap.
Conversation flowed at first. Trade routes. The recent unrest near Redwood. A passing mention of the Shadow Wolf.
Soon, Mr. Duvall turned his gaze to her. "So, Vivienne, what do you do?"
