ARTHUR

“My wife said you were probably the smartest man in the entire military,” Leopold says in return, his eyes crinkling.

He was a decade older than her when she died, Arthur thinks, turning to greet Leopold’s children with friendly warmth. Vivienne Vonadieu really married for money. No wonder she was unhappy.

“You must be Lache and Atro,” he says with a nod to the girl and another for the boy. “You both look quite distinguished.”

Less so on Atro’s part, but Arthur’s not about cutting corners. He needs to get Leopold to agree to his deal before this meeting ends--one way or another.

The girl beams. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cendrillion,” she says politely as her brother leans against her shyly. Lache looks quite a bit like Leopold in the face, but Arthur can already see the beginnings of Vivienne’s sturdiness in the line of her shoulders. The boy is whip-thin by comparison and has a doll-like face. He’s a year Cel’s junior, but his sister is a year Cel’s senior.

“How polite,” Arthur says and steps aside to introduce his own children. “This is my ward, Nora.” Nora waves awkwardly at the other two, who smile back--even the boy. “And this is my daughter, Celosia.”

Arthur has been slightly worried about this moment since the meeting was first confirmed. The only other child Cel has ever interacted with is Nora, who is much more practiced at being in public, but always grows rowdier around Cel. Arthur watches his daughter carefully, ready to interfere if need be. She knows to keep secrets, but he’s not so sure she knows how to be polite. For all that she’s been taught the mannerisms of the Malroix, she’s always been abrasive at home, sarcasm forever brimming behind her words. The child has a tongue that’s barbed as well as silver.

When she leans forward so eagerly that she nearly trips onto the stairs, Arthur lets out a snort. He barely catches her in time to keep her from landing on her face. As he steadies her, Nora poorly buries a giggle behind her hand.

“I’m Cel,” Cel declares too loudly, her face blotching red. She retreats to Nora’s side and nudges her with an elbow, hissing, “Shut up, Nora!”

Leopold’s mouth purses slightly. “So this is your daughter.”

Something in his tone makes Nora stop laughing. Not quite subtly enough, she pushes Cel behind her, who enthusiastically hides her blushing face against Nora’s back. The stony look Nora aims at Leopold is very much like the one Arthur remembers seeing on her aunt back in Busurul, the woman who had so stubbornly stood between he and a freshly wounded Nora.

Arthur even has difficulty not bristling Leopold’s tone. “Apologies,” he says instead, fake smile back on. “Cel’s only now learning to socialize. I’ve sheltered her too much. Nora is training to be her bodyguard. She’s quite protective herself.”

Nora bares her teeth like an animal, and Arthur berates himself from not seeing this coming.

“This is the Busuruli girl you took in?” Leopold asks, levelling Nora with a grim look. “Still half-feral, I see. How peculiar of you to keep her this long, Arthur.”

Heat blooms in Arthur’s belly and crashes through his limbs, but he’s well practiced at containing it, especially after five years of brushing off multitudes of cruel comments about Nora and why he ever thought to take her in.

You could’ve just killed her after they surrendered! Those words had been breathed at him so many times, even by the Commander General of Malais himself.

Where’s the fun in that? He had told the city’s head with light humor. He hadn’t spoken his true thoughts: When she’s grown and fierce and you all fear her, what will you say then?

Too late he remembers that his daughter’s temper is not so well controlled.

Cel practically shoves Nora aside and storms up to Leopold, glaring murderously at him. She open her mouth, no doubt to shout an insult, but Nora slaps a hand over her mouth before she can utter a word. Cel seethes loudly as Nora drags her a few paces backwards.

“Sorry, Uncle Arthur,” Nora says, looking aggrieved.

“Do not apologize,” Arthur tells her, quieting Cel with a stern look. Nora finally releases her, and Cel’s face is even more blotched than before.

Knotting his hands behind his back, Arthur turns his full attention on Leopold, smiling humorlessly. “Shall we speak of the children your daughter has bullied? Or your son’s rather lackluster grasp of speech?”

Leopold’s eyes narrow as his daughter bows up, anger in her eyes, while her brother flushes deeply and hides behind her.

“We are not the sort of men who dally in such petty squabbles, are we, Leopold?” Arthur maintains the polite facade.

“You say that, and yet you insult us,” Leopold retorts.

Arthur tilts his head. “I believe one barb should always be traded for another. I counted two, so I returned two.”

“I counted one.”

“Your tone was enough of an indicator.”

“How can we conduct business if we can barely have a civil conversation?”

“Business doesn’t require us to like each other.”

“I beg to differ, Arthur.” Leopold’s hand tightly grips the end of his cane. “Vivienne had far too much to say about you, you know.”

Arthur lets his disgust seep through. “I spurned her advances, if that’s what you’re wanting to know. I can assure you, I am quite dedicated to my husband. Were I not, he’d slit my throat in my sleep.”

Leopold sweeps his gaze over Cel and Nora. “You talk this way in front of children.”

“My children,” Arthur says pleasantly, “are mature enough to handle such talk. Are yours?”

Leopold huffs and taps his daughters knees with his cane. “Lache is being trained by General Ouida Arsenault. Just yesterday she broke a grown man’s tibia.” Lache lifts her chin proudly. “Atro tracks the profits for the nightshine we move about the city,” Leopold adds. “There is no math he cannot do in his head.”

Nightshine is a potent alcohol that can induce hallucinations. It’s illegal to brew or sell. Fukashi is occasionally fond of it.

Arthur hums consideringly. “So we have established that our families are atypical, above average, beyond pleasantries. Perhaps we can get along.”

Leopold brushes nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “It depends on what you have to offer.”

“Someone stole your stuff from the port.”

It’s not Arthur who says this.

Even he is a little surprised by the outburst.

Leopolds’ eyes go wide. He glances down as Cel comes to lean against Arthur’s side. She drags Nora along with her, an apparent death-grip on the older girl’s hand. “Right, Daddy?” Cel says more than asks, a smug look about her.

Arthur cracks a smile, a real one this time.

“You’re speaking out of turn,” scolds Lache, her face gone pink with anger.

“I am not. He asked a question.” Cel turns a frown on Leopold. “You heard me, didn’t you? Someone. Stole your stuff. From the port. And Daddy knows about it. So you can talk to him about it, and then can we please hurry up and go to the beach, Daddy?”

Arthur can’t even be mad at her. He tugs on a strand of her hair. “Little General,” he teases. “What am I going to do with you?”

Her glower is formidable. “I told you! Take us to the beach! Nora wants to see the merfolk, and I want to find a sea cookie!”

You don’t even like to get in the water, he thinks, shaking his head at her antics. And you’re rarely this bratty. He glances at the other children and recalls how disagreeable she’d been when Nora first came around.

“We can talk in my sitting room,” Leopold finally concedes. “The children can go play by the pool.”

“Don’t fall in,” Arthur warns Cel. He shoots a warning look at Nora. he knows how much she likes swimming. “Deliberately or otherwise.”

It’s Nora’s turn to pout. “Yes, Uncle.”

As Lache and Atro lead his children away, Arthur follows Leopold, ready to do business.