Arabella looked up from her book with a slow, almost languid as though she had just stirred from a nap.
When her gaze met Morpheus's, she softened the corners of her lips into something that resembled a smile, yet it was the kind of smile that lived on a razor's edge, teetering between mockery and gentle affection.
It was a smile that could be read a dozen ways depending on what one hoped to find in her eyes. With a thoughtful hum, she closed the book and allowed the faintest tune to slip from between her lips, as if she were merely passing the time rather than sparring with one of the most powerful beings in the castle.
"I'm not sure," she said lightly, as if discussing the weather. "What do you mean by hiding? I've been here, in my room, as I always am. And I meet you during dinner and luncheon. Surely that is hardly considered 'hiding.'"
