Mo Han wiped his hands with the silk napkin provided. He rose quietly, bowing slightly toward Patriarch Wood before turning to Rose Wood, who had remained unusually silent throughout the latter part of the meal.
Her gaze followed him with a softness that she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide behind polite composure. When he stood, she instinctively mirrored the motion, her delicate hands pressing together in front of her robe.
Mo Han turned to her directly. His voice, calm and direct, broke the fragile politeness between them.
"So," he said, "can you tell me now — what was your true purpose for inviting me here?"
The hall stilled. The faint chatter of servants outside seemed to fade as his words hung between them.
Rose Wood blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. She tried to smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Young Master Mo Han, must I have a purpose other than courtesy? It is rare to meet a man of such skill and humility. My family merely wished—"
