“Lord Roux isn't sufficiently well-liked in Val Royeaux to be both that stupid and alive,” she says, and then starts, a little, at the sound of a match striking in the darkness as the man in question lights a lamp in an interior doorway, regarding them with appraisal and what looks like the sort of aplomb it's really difficult to beat out of someone.
“Gigi,” he says, firelight casting a warm glow on his cheekbones, the much slighter wave to his hair, the paler cast of his complexion, “that's hurtful.”
It's easy not to see a resemblance between them; tall where she's slight, pale where she's sun-warm, his eyes green to her amber. But in their high cheekbones, the shape of their mouths— the way that he regards all three women, eyebrow raised, assessing.
“What vigorous maidens. I'm in safe hands already.”
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“Lord Roux isn't sufficiently well-liked in Val Royeaux to be both that stupid and alive,” she says, and then starts, a little, at the sound of a match striking in the darkness as the man in question lights a lamp in an interior doorway, regarding them with appraisal and what looks like the sort of aplomb it's really difficult to beat out of someone.
“Gigi,” he says, firelight casting a warm glow on his cheekbones, the much slighter wave to his hair, the paler cast of his complexion, “that's hurtful.”
It's easy not to see a resemblance between them; tall where she's slight, pale where she's sun-warm, his eyes green to her amber. But in their high cheekbones, the shape of their mouths— the way that he regards all three women, eyebrow raised, assessing.
“What vigorous maidens. I'm in safe hands already.”