"And I bet you remember each time." Lady Elowen snorts.

Kael's smile widens.

"I assure you, my lady, the complaints are meticulously documented."

"You keep records?"

"I am a steward."

"Of course you keep records."

"Separate ledgers, in fact."

Elowen laughs despite herself.

"There are ledgers devoted specifically to people finding you insufferable?"

"Several."

The dragonborn closes his book.

"The eastern servants maintain one. The kitchen staff maintain another. The groundskeepers attempted a third, though their accounting practices were... questionable."

"You surely jest."

"I would never."

"That was a lie."

"A small one."

"A very obvious one."

"Still technically small."

Outside, the blizzard rattles the library windows.

Inside, neither seems inclined to return to their reading.

"My lady."

"Yes?"

"You are staring again."

Elowen nearly drops her book.

"I am not."

"You are."

"I was observing."

"Observing?"

"Professionally."

Kael glances down at himself.

"And what conclusion has your professional observation reached?"

Elowen straightens.

"Your collar is crooked."

The steward looks down.

"It is."

"You should fix it."

"I probably should."

Neither moves.

The fire pops in the hearth.

Kael raises one brow.

"I fear I may require assistance."

Elowen's cheeks warm.

"You most certainly do not."

"A tragedy."

The clock ticks loudly.

Too loudly.

Everything in the room feels suddenly closer.

The shelves.

The fire.

The chair across from her.

The dragonborn steward watching her with infuriating patience.

"Are all dragonborn this dramatic?" Elowen asks.

"Only the properly trained ones."

"Trained in what?"

"Estate management."

"That is not what I meant."

"I know."

His tail moves again.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Elowen pretends not to notice.

Poorly.

Kael smiles.

A scandalous smile.

One no respectable steward should wear in a noblewoman's library after midnight.

"Careful, my lady."

"Careful?"

"You are beginning to look as though you intend to renegotiate the terms of my employment."

Elowen rises.

Slowly.

Purely to prove she can.

"Perhaps I do."

Kael does not move from his chair.

"Then I should warn you, my lady, I am a difficult man to dismiss."

"I have noticed."

"And an excellent steward."

"Debatable."

"Deeply wounded."

"You'll survive."

She steps closer.

The storm howls beyond the glass.

Kael finally stands.

He is taller than her.

Much taller.

Which is irritating.

And not irritating at all.

Elowen reaches for his collar.

"For propriety," she says.

"Of course."

Her fingers brush the fabric.

The dragonborn goes very still.

The crooked collar takes only a moment to fix.

Her hand lingers considerably longer.

Kael's voice lowers.

"My lady."

"Yes?"

"That was not in my duties."

Elowen smiles.

"Then perhaps we require a new ledger."

The fire crackles.

The storm continues.

And somewhere in the estate, entirely ignored, the eastern pantry inventory remains in absolute disarray.