The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. Wait a moment.
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