The only trap I want to lead you into involves you shutting yours, is the retort he wants to give, but Benedict restrains himself for the sake of the task. He hates this girl, he hates her, he never knew how much he did until just now, looking into her smug, snide little face that seems to exist solely to tear him down for her own pride. How loathsome that she should be the one who, even if he were to change his mind, already holds the information anyway.

"My mother thinks that loaning me to the Inquisition will strengthen my family's foothold," he says, clipped and in no mood for mincing words, "she's probably wrong. But I assure you." He brusquely pushes hair out of his eyes. "I'd sooner die than introduce you to her."