I moved toward Scott and then past him, not sparing him a glance as I strode down the hallway toward the grand entryway where a man stood silently by the front door, his presence stiff and expectant like a shadow waiting for orders. I tilted my head at him, slowing my steps as I came to a stop. “Are you the messenger my father sent?” I asked, my voice cool and even. He didn’t speak, but his slight bow and the barely perceptible nod of his head was enough of an answer. I took it as confirmation.
“Okay, please tell my father that I’m happy to accept,” I said, and the words tasted strange in my mouth. Polite. Distant. Practiced. As though I had done this a hundred times before.
The messenger nodded, reaching for the door handle, ready to disappear and deliver my reply. But I stopped him wit
