FENRIC'S POV
I watched Anwen as she ate her breakfast in silence, her movements small and careful, her eyes fixed on her plate.
She had been mostly well-behaved these past few days—almost too well-behaved—ever since she’d asked for my help. The fire was still there beneath her skin, but she was holding it back, banking it, forcing herself to stay in control.
For me.
For her so-called brother’s freedom.
And somehow, this restrained version of her amused me far more than the fiery one ever had. Well… perhaps only slightly more.
She no longer glared at Rhydan. She was almost too obedient with Brammon. And every time I thought she might finally hurl a knife at me whenever I teased her, she bit her tongue instead.
Anwen scraped the last bite from her plate, just as Brammon had instructed
