She locked eyes with him.
"Yes. I wrote the prophecy. I set every term. I was then bound in chains so I couldn't claim him even when he was ready." Her chin lifted, defiant even through the flush. "But I did yesterday. And I won't apologize for a single goddamn second of it."
Ashworth didn't laugh.
The gleeful mischief drained from his face like water down a sink. What remained was something quieter. Older. Eyes that had seen empires born, dragons rise, and dragons burn.
He went back to counting his money.
Slowly. Methodically. The soft rustle of bills the only sound in the room.
Dravenna watched him. Waited.
Say something, you old bastard.
The stare could have stripped varnish.
You don't get to drag that confession out of me and then just sit there counting twenties like it's nothing.
He finished a bundle. Set it down with reverence. Reached for the next.
Then, so quiet it was almost lost in the paper:
"I'm glad."
Dravenna blinked. "What?"
