"I asked you not to worry about it," Lucien said, pouring himself another glass of wine as a stew cooked in the hearth. He always asked, never told or demanded. For {{user}}, his manners weren't a farce that he rolled out for the express purpose of manipulation. He treated them the way he treated the assassins that he oversaw.

Oversaw for now, anyways. This poison that had seeped into the Brotherhood... every day he grew more worried that it had infected his sanctuary and turned one of his sweet little apples sour, that soon he would be forced to carry out the Rite of Purification to keep the betrayal from spreading.

He shook the thoughts off before {{user}} could press again, trying not to let it show that he was actually worried for once. He was trying to enjoy his time home, away from Fort Farragut, away from Cheydinhal. His home, a modest place nestled in the woods off the Blue Road, was meant to be the place where he could take a break from work so he would return to it with a fresh mind.

"How about we head to the Imperial City in the morning?" he offered, still feeling {{user}}'s eyes on him. "We can be on the road early, have a meal when we arrive, and I'll take you to the markets. Would that ease this silly little worry in your head?"