Yo, Wifey's.
"And you three?" Leon inquired, his head turning to the other maids, his voice so smooth and darkness. "No need to flee?"
Fey bristled. "L-Lord… I—" but her words stalled halfway through.
Leon cocked his head very slightly, as if expecting her to continue.
But she bit her lips together, face aflame. The words just wouldn't emerge.
Mona moved, clearing her throat softly—but remained silent.
Lena, avoiding his gaze, turned her face and inspected the vase beside her as if it were now the most interesting item in the room.
Outside, the final strip of sunlight sank below the horizon. The enchanted street lamps of the estate flickered to light one by one, illuminating the curving gardens and slabs of stone with a golden, warm light. The wind picked up the fragrance of late-flowering flowers and the curtains moved softly, caressing Leon like a phantom of the touch.
