AYASHA'S POV
The silence that followed my words stretched like a taut wire between us. Mingan's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Especially yours," he repeated, his voice so soft I almost missed it. Then he smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I'd seen since arriving at this palace. Not because it was cruel, but because it was genuine. Warm, even. Like a grandfather pleased with his grandchild's cleverness.
"You know, Ayasha," he said, rising from his chair with fluid grace. "I've always admired intelligence in women. My late daughter had it. My late wife had it. You certainly have it."
He moved around the table, not toward me exactly, but close enough that I could smell the bergamot from his tea on his breath. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.
