Two Eyes Cenote is that it? are you not allowed to talk?

The offer makes her pause beneath the threshold of his room, a stunned expression hidden by the turn of her back. She hates that suspicion is the first to arise in her mind.

She doesn’t know Stark; she doesn’t know his origins or the tenets that raised him. There were few in Shuyet who would see her mixed blood and view her as anything other than a courtesan.

But she was no longer in Shuyet, and she was no longer a serf. She was hebsut, mistress of the blue palace, a woman of substance. She crafted the board; she aligned the pieces; she played the game.

And so Eset turns to face the graystone man, accepting his invitation with a grateful nod, and settles into a seat.

“Thank you, for the invitation. I’d be honored to join you.” She looks across the spread at him. He does not strike her as a man from the desert, and now her curiosity begs to know more, but she waits respectfully for his first move before daring to lob such questions.