Nathaniel sat at the grand dining table, a plate of food in front of him, and another—much smaller portion—placed neatly in front of her. He swirled the wine in his glass lazily before setting it down, his sharp eyes narrowing at the small girl curled up on the chair across from him.

She was facing away from her plate, arms crossed, fluffy tail flicking in irritation.

"Eat." His voice was calm, but there was a quiet authority behind it.

She shook her head, ears twitching. "Not hungry."

Nathaniel sighed, setting his fork down. He studied her for a long moment before finally pushing his chair back and standing up. Without another word, he walked over to her side and gracefully lowered himself onto the seat beside her.

"You're being difficult," he murmured, picking up the fork. "Open your mouth."

She shook her head again, pressing her lips into a pout.

Nathaniel exhaled through his nose, amused but also growing impatient. "You're small enough as it is. If you get any smaller, I might lose you in this house."

She huffed. "I'm not small."

He lifted a brow. "Oh?" He reached out, easily circling her delicate wrist with his long fingers. "Your wrist is thinner than my tie, little fox."