CHAPTER 165: BASKET

Nellie bit her lip, grabbing the bread basket to cover her fluster.

"You... you haven’t touched your bread," she said, pushing it toward him, her voice a little too quick. "Don’t think I didn’t notice."

He grinned, taking a slice and tearing it with exaggerated care. "You’re keeping tabs on me, huh?"

"I—I just don’t want you to go hungry," she stammered, her blush spreading to her ears as she took a slice for herself, her fingers trembling slightly.

"I’ll risk it," Lor said, scooping more carrots onto his plate, his eyes never leaving her.

"Besides, you wouldn’t kick me out if I got too full to walk, would you? You’d let me crash in that fancy sitting room of yours, right?"

Her gray eyes flicked up, catching his over the rim of her glass, a playful spark dancing there despite her shyness.

"Maybe," she said, her voice soft but teasing, her lips curving in a smile that made his chest tighten.

They lingered over the meal, the plates emptying slowly as their conversation wove through lighthearted banter and academy gossip.

Lor’s offhand quip about Miss Silvia’s sudden change linked to her monthly thing caught Nellie mid-bite, her laugh bursting out—clear and unguarded, a sound that lit up the room.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it, but her eyes sparkled with mirth, and Lor couldn’t help but lean forward, savoring the moment.

"That laugh’s cute," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Keep that up, and I’ll have to make you laugh again just to hear it."

Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t look away, her glasses glinting as she tucked another strand of hair behind her ear.

"You’re terrible," she murmured, but the smile lingered, soft and real.

When the main dishes were cleared, Nellie rose, her skirt swishing against her thighs as she fetched dessert—a chilled custard topped with thin, glistening slices of sugared pear.

"Something light," she said, setting his portion before him with a small, proud smile, her fingers brushing the edge of the plate as she pulled back.

Lor dipped his spoon into the custard, the cool, creamy texture melting on his tongue, sweet with a hint of vanilla.

"You’re spoiling me, Nellie," he said, his voice dropping to a warm murmur, his eyes locked on hers. "Keep this up, and I might never leave."

Her blush deepened, spreading across her freckled cheeks, but she didn’t deny it.

They ate in a companionable quiet, the faint hum of the grandfather clock in the corner marking the slow passage of time.

Each bite, each stolen glance at her flushed face and the way her blouse hugged her curves, stoked the quiet anticipation building in Lor’s chest.

The meal was perfect, the company sweeter—but what came next was what he’d been waiting for.

As Nellie gathered the plates, her movements careful but unhurried, Lor leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edge of the table.

"So," he said, his voice casual but carrying a subtle, suggestive weight, "are you ready?"

Her hands paused on the tablecloth, her gray eyes lifting to meet his, wide and curious behind her glasses.

A faint flush crept up her neck, but her voice was steady, tinged with a nervous excitement.

"Ready," she said softly, her lips parting slightly as she held his gaze.

Lor’s smile deepened, slow and warm, a promise woven into the curve of his lips.

"Good," he murmured, standing and gesturing toward the hallway, his eyes never leaving her. "Let’s get to work, then."

Lor pushed back his chair, the slow scrape against the polished floor a quiet punctuation, and stood, his movements unhurried, carrying the easy confidence of a man who knew the rhythm of the moment.

Nellie rose with him, her cheeks still flushed from lunch, her ash-brown braids swaying gently as she smoothed her skirt.

There was a grace in her motion, as if they’d danced this step a dozen times before—a shy, eager symmetry.

"Here," she murmured, her voice soft as a secret, gesturing toward the hallway.

She led him through the gleaming marble entrance, past the lavender-scented air, to her room—a smaller, brighter space that felt like a sanctuary compared to the dining room’s grandeur.

Books lined the walls in neat rows, their spines worn but orderly, while stacks of parchment sat tidily on a desk.

A round rug woven with pale blue spirals softened the floor, and two cushions waited, placed with exacting care—one facing the other, a silent invitation.

Prepared. Expectant.

Lor lowered himself onto one cushion, the fabric yielding under his weight.

Nellie followed, settling cross-legged across from him, her skirt fanning over her thick thighs, the green-leaf pattern catching the light.

Her braids draped over her shoulders, framing the soft curve of her neck, and her glasses glinted as she glanced down at her hands, then up at him, then down again—a flicker of that familiar shyness that made his pulse hum.

Her freckles stood out like scattered stars, her gray eyes clear and earnest behind the lenses.

She took two slow breaths, steadying herself, her fingers resting lightly on her knees. She was ready. He’d known she would be.

He slipped a thumb into his pocket, tracing the familiar edge of the silver coin.

He drew it out and placed it gently in the precise center of the rug, its faint gleam a quiet anchor between them.

He closed his eyes, letting the world narrow to the sounds of the house—the distant tick of the clock in the hall, a bird’s insistent chirp outside, the faint clink of a cooling pan in the kitchen.

He breathed in, slow and deep, letting the air sink through him, grounding him.

When he opened his eyes, they were no longer his own—a liquid silver sheen flooded his irises, glowing softly, not blinding but unnatural, like moonlight trapped in a still pond.

The air above the coin shivered, and it lifted, trembling at first, then rising a steady inch off the rug, hovering in the charged space where their breaths mingled.

When Lor spoke, his voice was deeper, resonant, carrying an ancient weight that seemed to press against the room’s walls, brushing Nellie’s skin like a whisper of power.

"What guidance do you seek, child?"