Chapter Text
“Why me?!”
It started with this Master-ranked job request. Whispers of how one of the great ducal houses has made a request through the Sorcerer’s Guild has been spreading in the way that juicy gossip does. But I pay them no mind. As far as I’m concerned, a job request is a job request. As a receptionist, I’ll just do my job the best I can, no matter who the client or the sorcerer taking the job may be.
I say all that, but it’s Zozo, two counters down from me, who is handling the job completion. One of our Master sorcerers, Mr. Makkahre — the one who always has his son, Beck, tag along on his jobs — was the one who took the request, and has now returned with whatever it is he had to collect per the client’s request. I’ve heard it’s a rare item that requires the skills of a Master sorcerer. I’m too busy dealing with an angry Expert-ranked sorcerer at the moment, though, so I completely miss what all the fuss is about.
As soon as I’m done dealing with the unsatisfied sorcerer, Zozo calls me over.
“Nanalie, the Director wants to see you,” she says with a sly grin.
Huh? Wonder what’s this about …?
I nod and head straight to the Director’s office.
Inside, Director Locktiss is busy writing something on a thick, expensive-looking paper — the fancy kind aristocrats use. I clear my throat to let her know I’m here.
“Um, Director? You wanted to see me about something?”
“Ah, yes, Nanalie, come here.” She waves me over, looking strangely amused about something. “I need you to go deliver this to the client.”
“A delivery…?” I tilt my head curiously. It’s not completely unusual, but normally clients come to the Guild themselves to confirm job completion and collect whatever item they requested. Otherwise, the sorcerer who took the job would liaise directly with the client, and make any necessary delivery.
“Yes. The client is from a Ducal House, so I think it’s best we send a Harré representative rather than the sorcerer himself to deliver this,” the Director explains. She opens the box on her table and tilts it toward me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I lean in for a peek—and gasp in awe. “Wow…!”
Inside, nestled on a bed of snow, is a flower. A real flower. Except it’s made of ice, gleaming with rainbow colors like some jewel a princess would wear on her crown. If it were just ice shaped into petals, even I could manage something like that with a little effort. But no—this thing is the real deal. A completely natural flower. I’ve only ever read that it has incredible purification and healing properties, and that it grows only in some remote, monster-infested corner of the continent. Just like the couplet flower, it’s one of those plants you can’t grow with magic, no matter how hard you try.
“I’d say you’re the best person we have for the job, wouldn’t you agree?” the Director says with a knowing little smile. “With your ice magic, you can keep the flower preserved in perfect condition.”
“Uh, sure,” I agree without thinking much about it. “Where do you want me to take it?”
The Director’s smile widens. “To Duke Rockmann’s Mansion, if you please.”
…Duke …Rockmann?
I blink. As in—his father?! As in—I have to go to his house?!
“GAH!” I yelp like the flower just transformed into a man-eating demon.
“Run along now.” Looking entirely too amused, the Director tucks the fancy paper she had been writing on earlier into the box and deposits it into my arms. “Remember to be polite, don’t rush things, and mind your courtesies. We wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the Duchess, now would we?”
The Duchess?! So this is her request? I guess that makes sense. Duchess Norweira’s supposed to be quite the hand at healing magic, so it’s not surprising she’d want this flower for some kind of medical purpose. Still…
“Couldn’t they have sent someone to get it? Like a servant or something?” I protest. “I mean, they’re a Ducal House, for crying out loud!”
“Now, now, Nanalie.” The Director tuts, already shoving me out of her office. I catch her muttering something about the importance of getting to know the guy’s family.
…Now what is she talking about?
And also—
“Why me?!”
Still baffled and complaining to myself, I reluctantly summon Lala and take off flying west.
The distance from Harré to the mansion isn’t that far. Walking it would take a long time, of course, but riding on a familiar as I am, we arrived relatively soon after departing, and land right outside the front gates of the mansion.
Come to think about it, this is my first time coming here by the front gate, weird as that sounds. The first time I’ve been to the mansion, I had accidentally teleported into the middle of a banquet on top of Rockmann. Long story. The second time, I had to sneak in through the rear gardens, because the Duke had secretly invited me without his son’s knowledge. Even longer story. And the last time I was here? I had been sent by the Time Keeper, dropped straight into Rockmann’s bedroom — right on top of him — on his bed! Yeah — no — that story is so long, I’d be old and gray before I finish telling it!
I’m met at the gate by a butler who introduces himself as Fezel. He bows with a warm, fatherly smile and says, “We have been expecting you, my lady.”
…My lady?
I blink, baffled. I’m no lady. Not even close. Just a receptionist. What on earth is this man seeing?
Before I can hand over the package—or correct him—he promptly ushers me inside and straight to the parlor.
Waiting there, looking as graceful as ever, is Duchess Norweira (also known as Lady Leenah) herself. Her long golden locks flow down her shoulders, all the way down to her waist, loose and brilliant as sunbeams on a summer’s morning. Her pearlescent skin sparkles in the light of day (not just metaphorically speaking, mind you—it is literally sparkling), and her blue eyes are full of a gentle kindness as she smiles at me. I’m struck once again by the striking resemblance of her features to her second son, Alois Rockmann.
“Nanalie! Welcome to our home!” she greets me cheerfully. “It’s so good to see you again!”
I bow quickly, trying to keep my voice polite and steady. “Thank you for receiving me, Duchess Norweira.”
…And yet, some distant part of me can’t stop noticing the way she addresses me. The first time we met—at the palace, right after she’d given birth to her fourth son—she called me Ms. Hel. Then, when Rockmann was bedridden after taking on the dream demon’s curse during the Time Keeper incident, she called me Miss Nanalie. And now… just plain Nanalie.
Not that I mind. Just—a strange little thought that crosses my mind.
A middle-aged woman, who had been keeping the Duchess company before my arrival, serves us tea and pastries.
“Thank you, Carona,” says the Duchess warmly as she accepts her cup. Then she turns to me. “Nanalie, Carona here is our family’s wet nurse. She absolutely doted on Alois when he was a baby.”
I nod politely, smiling. I think I’ve seen Ms. Carona around before during one of my past run-ins with the Rockmann family. But more importantly—imagining baby Rockmann being doted on is… weird. Especially since I’ve already seen him as a child once before. Long story. Very long story.
“Oh, the Young Master was such an adorable little angel,” Carona coos fondly. Then, with a chuckle, she adds, “You’ll see, someday when you have children of your own.”
Huh? What? I blink, completely confused. But Ms. Carona just winks at the Duchess—who only smiles back, calm and gentle, like they’re both in on some secret I don’t get at all.
“Mmm!” I take a deep whiff of the tea and close my eyes against the unexpected delight. I’ve never smelled anything so fragrant before. Not heavy or overpowering—just warm and soothing, like comfort itself.
“Do you like it, Nanalie?” the Duchess asks, elegantly sipping her own cup. “It’s Rakiyan Dengul tea—one of Alois’s favorites.”
Rakiyan Dengul … where have I heard that name before…? Wait, did she just say it’s Rockmann’s favorite? Oh, right! That morning after he turned into a child, when we had breakfast in my room at Harré, he asked for some kind of fancy tea. It must’ve been this one!
“Yes, it’s very good!” I say quickly, savoring the gentle taste as it lingers on my tongue.
My attention is suddenly stolen by a burst of tiny laughter outside the parlor’s large window—followed by a very familiar voice calling, “Hey, be careful!” — only … in a very unfamiliar tone.
Noticing my curiosity, the Duchess chuckles, sets down her teacup, and motions me closer.
“It’s Alois and Kees,” she explains warmly.
We both lean out the window.
And the sight that greets me—honestly, I must blink a hundred times just to believe it.
Down in the gardens, Rockmann is chasing after a toddler. Or… no, that’s not quite right. The toddler is the one running wild, while Rockmann just strolls after him at an easy pace. That must be his little brother, Kees.
Then, the child spins around happily and hurls some kind of colorful ball at him. Rockmann doesn’t dodge. He lets it hit him square in the chest, staggers dramatically, and drops into the grass with an exaggerated groan.
The child squeals with laughter and pounces on him, triumphant. And then—Rockmann laughs too. Really laughs. Out loud. Rolling in the grass with his little brother, shoulders shaking like he hasn’t a care in the world.
I freeze, caught off guard. I’ve seen Rockmann composed, irritated, even exasperated… but never like this. Never so unguarded … happy.
Before I realize it, I’m smiling too. And then my chest gives this strange, traitorous lurch, and I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.
“I had no idea Rockmann—eh, uh—I mean, S-Sir Alois is home,” I say as we continue to watch the brothers.
I’d thought he’d be working today.
“It’s true, Alois very rarely comes home,” the Duchess says sadly. “It must be because of the unpleasant memories he has of his childhood.”
She lowers her gaze, golden hair slipping over her shoulder. I’ve heard of Rockmann’s difficult, lonely childhood before—but only much later, when we were adults, even after knowing him for nearly ten years. But, it’s clear this is still a painful subject for his family.
“When Alois was just a baby, he caused all kinds of pestrokraives just from smiling or making a sound. He had so much magic that the earth would shake, and things around him would break or burst into flames. Not even full-grown adult mages could control his outbursts. Kees has quite a bit of magic too, though nowhere near as much as Alois had at that age,” the Duchess continues. “Remember that pestrokraive Kees had that turned Alois into a child?”
Uh, yes. How could I forget—when Rockmann was literally stuck holding on to me in his child state?!
I nod quickly.
“Well, since then, Alois has made an effort to come by from time to time to help bait out Kees’s excess magic.” She gestures toward the garden, where Rockmann is now tossing the toddler high into the air, then catching him with an ease that makes Kees shriek with laughter. “I doubt Alois needs an excuse to spoil Kees rotten, just as he still does with Heiss. But Alois plays with Kees in a way that helps work off the potential magical overflow. He even makes Kees toys that can help with that, like that ball you just saw. I think he’s doing all he can to make sure that Kees won’t ever have to go through what he did as a child.”
I swallow hard. Rockmann really is good at this… helping children burn off their extra magic before it turns dangerous.
Come to think of it—wasn’t that what he was doing with me, back when we were at school and I was only just coming into my magic? Not that he was ever this gentle or playful with me the way he is now with his little brother. But still—throughout all my school years, I never once had a single pestrokraive. Because he was always there. Always baiting me into using up my excess before it could overflow.
Only much later did I realize it. In fact, it was Prince Zenon who had to explain it to me.
Next to me, Duchess Norweira sighs. “I just wish… if only someone could have done the same for Alois back then…” Her voice trails off, and for a moment she looks close to tears.
Without thinking, I blurt out earnestly, “Well, even if no one could back then, he turned out strong, didn’t he? Strong enough to be helping Kees now.”
The Duchess blinks at me, then her lips soften into a smile.
“You’re right.” Then, with a gentle shake of her head, she rallies and brightens. “Well, shall we go join them? I’m sure Alois won’t want to miss you while you’re here!”
“Oh, uh—um—sure…”
She’d looked so sad just now that I couldn’t bring myself to say no. So I follow her into the courtyard.
The mansion itself is huge. There’s a fountain and a flower garden maze in the courtyard, and it sprawls over so much ground, you’d think it was a small castle.
When we reach the gardens, Rockmann is crouched on the grass, shaping little animals out of his flames for the toddler to chase. His expression is all grins and easy smiles as he watches over his little brother. I almost don’t recognize him like this. Hard to believe this is the same guy who would hit me just to get me to blast him with magic.
With how much bigger and taller he is, Rockmann could almost pass for the kid’s father, the way he’s so blatantly doting on him.
Just then, the colorful ball I’d seen earlier comes flying straight at me and bounces off my shoulder.
Both Rockmann and his little brother turn at the same time to see where it went.
And that’s when my eyes meet his.
“Ah, Kees, look! You hit the lady over there,” Rockmann scolds lightly—but he doesn’t look the least bit angry. “That’s not good, is it?”
He stoops down, takes the child gently by the arm, and leads him toward me. “What do we say when we’ve hurt someone?” Stopping in front of me, he crouches so he’s eye level with the toddler.
“N-no, that’s fine!” I blurt, waving my hands. Forcing a small child to apologize for something he didn’t even mean to do feels a little much. But Rockmann ignores me completely.
“Go on, say sorry. Sor-ry.” He repeats the word slowly, patiently, until Kees tries to mimic him.
“This, coming from you?!” I whisper, eyes narrowing at him.
“Shut up,” he mutters back from the corner of his mouth, not even looking at me. “Gotta teach him right, y’know.”
Behind me, Duchess Norweira is laughing softly into her hand, thoroughly entertained.
And then—Kees looks up at me with his huge brown baby eyes and says, very carefully, “Chowee!”
…Too cute. Way, way too cute.
“It’s alright!” I say quickly, crouching down to meet his eyes. I pick up the ball and hold it out to him. “Here you go, uh…”
I falter. How do I even address him? Sir? Lord? I can’t very well call him Rockmann—that’s what I call his big brother, even though technically they’re both Rockmanns. He may only be a toddler, but he’s still the son of a Duke. And also, let’s not forget, the King’s youngest nephew!
“It’s Kees,” Rockmann supplies helpfully at my hesitation.
“I know his name,” I mutter. “I just don’t know how to address him…”
“You never had that problem with me.” He rolls his eyes. “Just call him Kees.”
“Huh—I guess—but I don’t even call you by your first name.”
“I didn’t say you can’t,” he shoots back quietly.
Somehow, without intending to, Rockmann and I have both crouched down side by side, shoulders brushing, facing little Kees together.
The toddler tilts his head at us, utterly confused by our muttered argument.
“Awaaa?”
“Yes, little brother?” Rockmann tilts his head to see Kees’s eyes bright and curious on me. “Right, guess you don’t remember you’ve met this scawwy ice lady before, huh?”
“Not scawwy!” I try to convince the toddler by pulling a few funny faces at him. Little Kees giggles at the faces I’m making. “Take that, Rockmann — I win — he doesn’t think I’m scawwy at all!”
Rockmann ignores me and holds out a hand like a proper gentleman making introductions, as though to show off to his baby brother.
“Hel, this is Kees. Kees, this is Hel.” He’s saying it all very patiently — carefully and slowly pronouncing the words. Makes sense, since Kees seems to just be learning to speak. “Let’s say hello to Hel, shall we? Say hello, Hel.”
“Heh … Heh …?” Tries the toddler. “Heh-o, Heh…?”
“Don’t worry about it. I think ‘Hello Hel’ might be too much of a mouthful for him,” I whisper to Rockmann, seeing how Kees is still struggling with the ‘L’ sound. “It’s OK, Kees. You can just call me Nanalie. Na-na-lee.” I point to myself.
“Na-na-wee?”
At this, Rockmann’s crimson eyes widens, before he huffs out a laugh despite himself.
“Even I don’t call you by your first name.”
“Well, I didn’t say you can’t!” I shoot right back, mirroring his earlier retort. “Though, it’ll sound a bit weird to hear you suddenly call me by my first name in the beginning … I think …”
“Nanaweee!” Cries the toddler, giggling.
He grabs onto my blue hair and pulls. I guess the unusual color must be fascinating to him.
“No, Kees!” Rockmann is scolding gently again. “You’re not supposed to pull a lady’s hair. For that matter, you shouldn’t be touching a lady without her permission.”
“Um, hello?! Says the guy who used to burn my hair on the regular!” I snort. “And as for touching a lady? Are you even hearing yourself, you ladykiller? Not to mention, you were hitting me all the time when we were in school!”
“Yeah, but that’s you, though,” he replies nonchalantly, finally succeeding in prying his baby brother’s fingers from my hair. “That’s different — doesn't count. And besides, I only do it to you.”
I’m about to snap back at him, but stop myself when I hear Duchess Norweira’s amused “Oh my!” And Ms. Carona’s weak “Young Master …” behind us. So I content myself with just a “Tsk tsk!” at Rockmann.
At Duchess Norweira’s prompting, we return to the parlor with her two sons in tow.
Rockmann accepts his cup of tea with a smile, casually praising the servant girl for her elegant pouring. The poor girl turns bright red—and promptly spills the tea. What a flirt!
Beside me, Ms. Carona sighs. “That’s the Young Master for you, ever the gentleman. But he doesn’t seem to realize the devastating effect he has on others.”
“Um, no offense, but I think he does…” I murmur quietly, just for the old wet nurse.
“Don’t worry, Young Lady,” Ms. Carona chuckles. “He may be endlessly gentle and kind with all the ladies—even with old ones like me—but believe me, I’ve never seen any passion in his gaze. Unlike the look in his eyes out there just now. I should know! He’s like a son to me.”
Huh…? Does she mean the look in his eyes when he was playing with little Kees…?
Meanwhile, across the room, Duchess Norweira is showing Rockmann the flower I delivered from the Sorcerer’s Guild.
“Nanaweee!!!” Kees cries with a big smile from where he’s bouncing on Rockmann’s knees, waving both his arms at me.
“Y-yeah?”
I look over at Rockmann, unsure what to do. But he just shrugs back at me. Oh, very helpful.
“Come over here, Nanalie!” Duchess Norweira urges, seeing my uncertainty. “I think Kees wants to play with you.”
Ms. Carona gives me an encouraging look, as I slowly make my way over to Rockmann and little Kees.
“Naaanaaweeee!” Kees cries again, looking kind of agitated.
“O-OK, I’m here, I’m here.” I hurry over and quickly shape a tiny ice figure of Lala, holding it out like a peace offering.
That seems to calm him down—thank goodness—as he giggles and pokes happily at the little sculpture in my palm.
“Oh, very pretty!” the Duchess breathes in delight.
“Not too bad,” says Rockmann, watching me fuss over his baby brother, who’s still perched comfortably in his lap.
Meanwhile I’m stuck standing in front of him, bent over in the most awkward posture just so Kees can reach my hand, while I keep changing the sculpture into different shapes to keep him entertained. My back’s going to snap at this rate.
“Sit down, Hel.”
He shifts over a few inches, making space right next to him on the sofa.
I hesitate to sit next to him on that double sofa, but… ugh, my back. I give up with a sigh and plop down beside him obediently.
“Aw-wih!” I think the baby’s trying to say Alois…?
Kees points hard at my ice sculpture, then at his big brother’s hand, babbling in baby talk.
“Hmm? You want me to make the same?” Rockmann guesses. “Sorry, little brother. I can’t make ice like Hel here. My magic is fire.”
Kees frowns, but keeps stubbornly poking at Rockmann’s arm with his tiny fingers.
“OK, I’ll see what I can do.” Rockmann ruffles the kid’s blond hair and conjures up a fire figure shaped like a little animal, matching it to the size of my ice one. “Look.”
At some point, a servant brings in a bowl of baby food, but Kees is way too busy watching my ice sculptures run around with Rockmann’s fire figures.
The whole thing would’ve been cute—except my ice has yet to beat his fire even once. I’m the one grunting in frustration here, while next to me, Rockmann is calmly spoon-feeding his little brother the mushy baby gruel and even wiping up the spills like it’s no big deal.
Once he’s finished eating, the toddler starts to look a little sleepy. Rockmann picks him up and gently rubs his back until the kid lets out a tiny burp. Then he shifts him into one arm, cradling him with ridiculous tenderness, slowly rocking him as he finally reaches for his long-neglected cup of tea with his free hand.
I blink at the absurdly domestic scene. If, back when we were in school, someone had told me Rockmann could behave like this, I’d have seriously worried about their sanity.
“You’ll make a wonderful father, you know,” I say.
“Pffft!”
Rockmann does a glorious spit take. He coughs over and over as he puts down his teacup and wipes his mouth.
“You OK?” I ask in concern.
“I’m … fine,” he chokes out, rubbing his chest. “You say the most awkward things sometimes.”
“What?” I tilt my head in confusion. “I mean it.”
He lets out a suffering sigh and picks his teacup back up.
“Though, I think you’ll be the parent who spoils the kids rotten,” I continue thoughtfully. “Guess the mother will have to be the tough one to balance you out — being your wife isn’t going to be easy, huh …”
“PFFFFFT!”
Rockmann does another spit take. A bigger one this time. I feel like I saw a rainbow in his sprayed tea.
Rockmann pounds on his chest and furrows his eyebrows. Is he really okay? I look at him with worry, concerned he might be ill.
Meanwhile, Duchess Norweira has both her hands pressed against her mouth, shaking — is she horrified by her son’s double spit takes? Guess it’s not very aristocratic of him to be spitting like that. Ms. Carona is shaking her head with a fond smile, while the other servants are blushing. Eh, do they seriously fine this guy spitting that attractive?!
“I dare say you’ll make a wonderful mother yourself, Young Lady,” Ms. Carona says kindly, when I look over at her.
“Eh?!” I blink, wondering what’s that got to do with anything?
Over in the corner, Mr. Fezel is discreetly dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. What’s with him? Did the tea splash into his eyes, all the way there, or something?
“Look!” I hiss at Rockmann, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow. “Everyone’s shaken by your spitting!”
“You really are a hopeless idiot.” Rockmann mutters his retort. He shakes his head, looking strangely tired.
“Huh…?”
“Oh my… where should we hold it…?” Duchess Norweira mutters, almost to herself. Her expression is strange—somewhere between a grin and intense concentration. “It’d be nice to have it here at home. But the King and Queen will probably want to do it at the palace…”
She’s probably thinking about some ducal duty or other.
Guess I should be heading back soon. But I can’t leave until Her Grace signs the form I brought along with the delivery, to confirm the request has been fulfilled. I want to ask her about it, but the Director did warn me not to push the Duchess, didn’t she…?
Perhaps noticing my glances at the box on the table, Duchess Norweira claps her hands once.
“Right. I’ll need to examine and test this specimen first, if you don’t mind, Nanalie. It might take a while—a good long while. So, do make yourself comfortable. I’m thinking of requesting for more of them through the Sorcerer’s Guild in the future. All of you, come with me—I’ll need your help.” She directs this at the servants and Ms. Carona. Then, with perfect calm, she adds: “Alois, I’ll take Kees. You stay here.”
But as soon as the Duchess tries to pick Kees up, the toddler wakes and starts bawling his eyes out.
“Come now, Kees,” she coos.
The child only wails louder. Then he flails out his tiny arms and latches onto a lock of Rockmann’s golden hair, now long enough to fall over his shoulder. As if that weren’t enough, his other hand grabs a fistful of my blue hair too!
“Mother, it’s fine. I’ll take care of Kees,” Rockmann says calmly, even though Kees’s yanking is practically knocking us into each other.
“If you’re sure…?” The Duchess looks doubtful, but Rockmann only nods. “Very well then.”
Once she leaves with the servants and closes the door, Rockmann manages to calm his baby brother down—though he still won’t let go of our hair. Before long, he’s asleep, tiny fists clutching golden strands in one hand and blue in the other.
The awkward part? Rockmann’s sitting on my left, and Kees has grabbed hair from his left shoulder and mine from my right. With his little arms tucked tight against his chest, it forces us into the most uncomfortable position imaginable. I’m practically head-butting Rockmann’s chin, while his elbow jabs me in the ribs.
“Ouch—Rockmann! Your elbow—my ribs!” I hiss, trying not to wake the baby.
“What do you expect me to do?” he hisses back.
“I don’t know, but you’re going to give me a terrible bruise at this rate.”
“Guess I could spell his hands free,” Rockmann mutters, though he looks reluctant, like he doesn’t want to risk another baby meltdown.
“No, don’t.” I hurry to stop him, not wanting to upset the cute little baby.
“Tch. Nothing for it then.” He looks down at the hair spilling down his shoulder.
“What are you going to do?” I ask curiously.
“I’ll just have to cut my hair off.”
“What?! Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. “If you cut your hair off every time a kid grabs onto it, you’ll be bald before you reach my dad’s age!”
“That’s absurd,” he snorts — half exasperated, half amused. “I was going to cut it off, not rip my hair off my scalp. And besides, my hair grows out ridiculously fast because of the magic I’m suppressing anyway.”
“Ugh!” I roll my eyes. “Just—just move your arm or something.”
He gives me that look—like I’m the idiot here—then sighs and eases his right arm out from under me.
“You do realize this is going to be more awkward for you, right?” he says, one eyebrow arched.
“What do you—?” I glance at his freed arm, and realization smacks me in the face. Because I’m pressed right against his side, the natural position would be for him to put that arm around me. “Oh…”
Rockmann smirks for half a second and gives me a sharp tap on the side of the head, before rolling his eyes and tucking his arm behind his back in the most ridiculously uncomfortable posture imaginable.
“Isn’t that going to hurt?” I whisper. “Looks really uncomfortable.”
“Well, whichever way we sit, one of us is going to be uncomfortable.” He half-shrugs.
I sigh. “My neck’s going to snap if I stay like this,” I grumble. “So…”
Ugh. I lean my head onto his shoulder — reluctantly — and reach behind me to pull his arm free, letting it fall over my shoulder. Above me, I catch his expression: a very clear ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ face. Rude.
“What’s your problem now?!” I huff.
“Quiet. Every time I talk to you, I feel like I’m losing another piece of my mind.” His arm tightens imperceptibly around my shoulders.
“So! So, are you admitting defeat?” I stick my tongue out at him.
“You’re ridiculous.” Then he gives me one of his trademark infuriating smirks. “First one to lose composure when Mother walks back in is the loser.”
“Gaaaah!”