Tournament of Tempers (536 words)
I would not submit and he knew it. The hard smile faded on Sperling’s lips, but his hand remained on my knee.
“It is yours, is it not?” he questioned again. “Come, speak. You’ve tongue enough for all the world.”
“It is mine, my lord,” I said.
“Then you confess it!” His eyes gleamed. “There are orders, I believe, forbidding you from keeping tokens as this on your person—let alone leaving them at table.”
A childish side of me, rather off topic, wished I would remark the displeasure of attending his table at all. I could not understand the aloofness of the man; his pride, pomp, and pretense left me cold as death and yet he laid it on thicker with me than with anyone.