The small bed creaked under their combined weight as Katrina and David perched awkwardly on the edge. Disquiet gnawed at Katrina. "Young Master," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "this… this isn't right."
Katrina knew his history – the incident with the Elarionne noble girl that had left him wary, even repulsed by women. Here she was, a woman past her prime, and yet he was the one who had initiated this unwelcome closeness. The situation felt bizarre, a tangled knot of propriety and a burgeoning tension that made her skin crawl.
"Katrina," David called, his voice low and rough, a stark contrast to his usual youthful demeanour. "Don't you…" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "Don't you ever get tired of being… lonely?"