Renault tried to get the blood off his coat the best he could before they reached his grandparent’s farm, but despite his best efforts the second his grandmother opened the door she instantly spotted the tiniest speck of blood on his lapel.
“Is it yours or someone else’s?” His grandmother asked instead of greeting him. She was a hardened woman from years on the farm, not much phased her, even the sight of blood.
“It’s good to see you too grandmother,” Renault replied dodging the question.
His grandmother looked behind him to see Constance looking like she had been put through hell. “Who is this?”
Constance elbowed her way past Renault to fully face the elderly woman standing even shorter than her. “Constance de Rochefoucauld,” she announced as if that meant something to his grandmothe
