Chapter 344: The Meeting XII
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Mihos watched him with narrowed eyes and the half-curved mouth of a man who disliked losing control of a conversation he thought he had already arranged.
Sekhmet guessed it well and thought, "Good. Let him dislike it."
For one moment, no one answered.
Then Mihos moved first. He reached inside the inner fold of his robe and drew out a small box.
Not large. Not ornate enough to be mistaken for gift jewelry or some noblewoman’s perfume case. Dark wood reinforced at the corners with silver-thread metal. The seal on it was old Dawn work. Not decorative. Official. The kind of thing meant to cross controlled borders and be recognized without explanation by the right eyes and only the right eyes.
Even in the low road light, the weight of it was obvious.
Mihos held it in one hand where everyone could see and said, "Inside."
Sekhmet’s gaze fixed on it immediately.
No point pretending otherwise.
Mihos went on, he was pleased now that he had recovered a position he liked better.
"The time. The location. The permission to enter Dawn family land properly." His eyes flicked once toward the record stone in Sekhmet’s hand and then back again. "And Grandfather’s message in writing."
Stephen closed his eyes for one breath, not long enough to count as disrespect, long enough to count as disapproval.
Lady Seraphiel’s expression did not change, but the air around her seemed to sharpen very slightly. She knew that look on Mihos’s face. It was the look he wore when he believed he had found a way to turn duty into amusement without suffering enough consequences for it.
Sekhmet said, "Then give it to me."
Mihos replied with a smile.
"No."
Bat Bat sucked in a delighted little breath because at last, in her private estimation, the noble had admitted he was being a noble in the most entertaining way possible.
One of the rank-three maids standing at Sekhmet’s side did not move at all, but inwardly she began recalculating whether the road to this camp would be difficult to clean after a body fell on it.
Mihos lifted the box a little higher.
"I said the message is inside," he said. "I did not say I would hand it over so easily."
Lady Seraphiel spoke at once.
"Mihos."
It was not loud. It was worse.
The warning in it was wrapped in enough old familiarity to remind everyone present that she had known him as a child and probably found him intolerable even then.
Mihos did not lower the box.
"I have already brought the message," he said. "I have already met him. I have already delivered what Eyra sent by stone." He gave Sekhmet a cool, amused look. "Now I want entertainment in return. Perhaps a game..."
There it was. No more pretending. No more noble drapery over his real impulse.
Entertainment.
Bat Bat mouthed the word silently as if confirming the man was indeed as childish as advertised.
Seraphiel took one step closer. "This is not a game."
Mihos’s eyes slid to her and did not soften.
"It is to me."
"That answer becomes less charming every year."
He shrugged. "Then perhaps I should have remained younger."
Seraphiel’s patience, already fragile, became visibly thinner.
"You were sent here to deliver a family summons and speak properly."
"I did speak properly," Mihos said. "He chose not to enjoy it."
Sekhmet said nothing yet. He wanted the heir to keep talking.
Mihos continued, now openly addressing Sekhmet again.
"If you want the box, win it."
Kess, still standing a little to one side and doing his best not to exist except as a useful pair of ears, nearly stopped breathing. Stephen looked even more tired than before. Elena’s face remained calm, but the three fan-girl maids beside Sekhmet were now all carrying the same very dangerous stillness.
Sekhmet finally asked, "What game."
There was no outrage in his voice.
That unsettled Mihos almost as much as if there had been.
"Good," Mihos said softly. "You are learning."
Seraphiel cut across him sharply. "Before he answers, you will explain to me whether your idea of a game tonight is one that will embarrass only you or the entire bloodline."
Mihos looked at her, and for the first time there was a small flicker of honest irritation under the polish.
"I do not care if I am scolded," he said. "I will not be punished."
Stephen’s eyes lifted by less than an inch.
That was an extremely Mihos sentence.
The heir went on, turning the box lazily in his fingers.
"If anyone complains, I can simply say I forgot it. I already delivered the true message. The personal one Eyra sent." He gave Seraphiel a pointed look. "If Grandfather hears that Eyra bypassed proper channels to send his son a private recording, I doubt he will be pleased with anyone involved."
That line landed. Not as a threat exactly. But as a reminder. The old house remained the old house.
Even a message from father to son could become leverage if spoken of in the wrong room.
Seraphiel’s mouth hardened.
"You are very proud for someone whose best talent remains standing near power and mistaking the warmth for your own."
Mihos smiled faintly. "And yet here I stand."
Bat Bat whispered, "He is very committed to being unpleasant."
One maid whispered back, "Quiet."
"I am whispering."
"No, you are participating."
Bat Bat considered that and decided it was, in fact, true.
Sekhmet looked at Mihos steadily and asked again, "What game."
The second time, the question carried less curiosity and more demand.
Mihos liked that better than begging. He lowered the box slightly and said, "Iron House."
At once, several lines of the night connected.
Kess blinked.
Stephen’s gaze sharpened.
Elena’s expression did not move, but the maids beside her all recognized the name as a live wire.
Sekhmet did too.
Mihos continued. "You already crossed them. They already hate you. They already know your name and your house well enough. Perfect." He smiled wider now, in the way men smiled when they thought they were being clever and cruel at once. "I will support them."
"How," Sekhmet asked.
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