They threw her in the room with enough force that were it not for her balance, she would have fallen. Both nobles entered in turn, blocking the door.
A couple servants had followed outside and stayed in the hallway, not daring to approach.
"Now tell us what happened." Abelard warned.
"I met your assassin."
"I didn't tell you to lie."
She frowned, then closed her eyes. Between the eyelids she could still perceive how Abelard had stepped in front of his brother, shielding him by a shoulder. Likewise, she had noticed the boiling humor he was keeping in his fist.
Corentin wasn't looking at her. His eyes were solely on his brother, filled with concern.
The only thing missing from them, to act like proper wolves, was violence. She had thought it was just human to be this tame and docile but now, Joan wasn't so sure.
"All you need from me is my title. Throw me in a cage and lose the key. You don't even need me for your lineage."
"You want to live in a cage?" Corentin sighed.
"I already do."
It took them a moment to understand that she had meant their castle. Joan, however, had not stopped.
"And if you fear me that much, draw your sword and stab my heart. All I can tell you is this much: I met the assassin and let him live."
"Your dress says otherwise."
"It's hers."
Those last words had come from behind the door, from a man she had not heard come. Those black hair, that sharp beard, she recognized the hunter. He had appeared in the frame wide open, in a cleaner tunic and with only his belt burdened by weapons to betray his craft.
His eyes on her gave her chills. She just loved his murderous intent.
But he insisted: "That's her own blood, no mistake. You could have at least used a sheep, milady."
"Sir," she huffed, "my hosts would not have forgiven me."
"Are you saying she killed no one?" Corentin asked.
"I would not say that. Not by a long shot. But, milords, I suppose you still don't want to hear fairytales?"
"Of course not."
"Then here is a banal story." He casually offered. "Some villager told me that their friend had been badly mauled by a wild animal. The whole arm, shoulder included, yet he recovered quickly. That victim lives in a hamlet near the forest. Interesting."
His eyes had not left Joan for even a blink.
"Wouldn't you say?"
"I met him. The wound is deeper than you say. It will take a month to heal. Let us both hope no more wild beast appears."
Their gazes had plunged so deep that the twins might as well not have been here anymore. They were letting them talk, visibly irked.
"Should I visit him?" The hunter offered.
"Do as you please. Why are you visiting me?"
"Why, milady, to see you... spread your wings. And to congratulate the lady of Cormoran, I cannot wait to witness your wedding ceremony."
It struck her.
"The ceremony?"
"Of course! His lordship has secured it from mother Clothilde. Your happiest day is scheduled a week from now at Cormoran, where milady and sir Corentin will exchange vows before a priest and the saintess as their witness."
It made her stomach churn.
For that man who could see through her with ease, he could only mean that her nature would be revealed that day. Just what power could that human fable hold, she wondered.
"A week is forever." She noted.
"For a cursed marriage it would be. But milady, your... patience is notable."
"Do you think our parents found us that insufferable?" Corentin asked his brother out loud.
Abelard only shook his head and waved it all off. It was their way of saying they didn't understand a word that was said and were tired of waiting for it to go anywhere relevant.
"So, Grisval," Corentin turned to the hunter, "what do you suggest we do?"
"Kill her where she stands." He coldly answered. Then, more casually: "But since I know you won't do that, and since a cage won't hold her back anyway, forget it. Let her be, get your domain and forget she ever existed."
"No!"
Joan walked forth and picked Corentin's hand. Her eyes had left the hunter's, which startled him. They had, until then, been in a deadlock.
"Whatever it takes, I will find a way to make you look at me." She told the noble with her fierce voice. "Hate me or crave me, this is all I ask. This is all I seek."
"Well!"
Grisval had cut the moment, bowed and turned away.
"Thank you for your invitation, milords, but you'll pardon this humble hunter if he takes his leave."
He sounded... calmer. But even as he reached the stairs, and he should have been far enough that nobody could have heard him:
"Just one last question." His tone had gone colder again. "You were never human, were you?"
She was too far to answer him but felt her heart leap again. That man's words cut in her like a knife. Grisval, she almost muttered, Grisval was toying with her.
It made her forget the room around her. When she came by, Ophelie had entered with the green dress to replace the one she wore. She talked of a bath to come and asked for some patience.
Her polite smile was breaking off from her usual resignation.
The servant enquired if the brothers needed anything more, nodded at the answer and hurriedly left, as if burned by hot water.
"Let's pretend you are not scheming." Corentin offered.
She wanted to scream that she was, and should be admired for it.
"Then," he continued, "you are like a child."
"Or a cat." His brother offered.
"Let's be generous and say a child. You want attention while giving none."
"A few caresses and you are gone."
"Actually yes, a cat is fitting. You complain that I don't look for you, but in all this time you certainly haven't looked for me. We haven't seen the slightest sign of affection from you. Any woman would know to at least fake that."
Joan wanted to answer that she had shown nothing but affection, but she could tell how ignorant she was with humans and Abelard had approached, speaking in turn.
"Tell us who you really are."
"I can't." She stepped back.
"Then leave. There are plenty of warlords for you to charm."
Joan could only blame herself for having given them that blade, the precise point to hurt her the most. Her assured looks were wavering, if not breaking apart.
"Tell me!" She fought back, and her voice was getting shaky. "Tell me why I am not enough for you! I don't understand, what is it you want!?"
"Guess."
He put his hand on her shoulder, forced her to sit on the bed and then pressed her further to lay her down, her hair flowing on the blanket. His face close to hers, towering.
She thought he was finally giving in but still, frustratingly, his hold was too weak.
"I have burned a castle, I will burn a second, guess. Guess what I want."
The answer started hammering in her head. After torturing herself for a day trying to guess what the brothers felt, it was a single sound that let her read those murderous eyes.
"You... you want to forge a hoe..."
"What?!" He rose back up, anger flaring.
But her next word hit: "Peace! You want peace!" And her eyes had gone wide, filled with dread and disbelief. "You hate violence... You two hate violence..."
They watched her fear them for the first time. And it took all she had to keep looking ever so slightly human.