He was silent for so long that Kiara thought he had not heard.
Then he sat down again, slowly, as if the question weighed more than the tea tray, and rubbed his thumb along the edge of the armrest.
"No," he said.
Kiara looked up.
"I have asked myself that same question more times than I can count. I have gone back through every memory, searching for it." He shook his head.
"She was never that kind of person, Kiara. Not once in all the years I knew her. Not when the other noblewomen whispered behind their fans because she wore her hair loose at supper. Not when I said the cruellest things to her on the night she told me what she was."
A faint, pained smile crossed his face.
"She heard every word, and then the next morning she poured me tea."
He looked at the lamp.
