"That would make her special, indeed," Elijah said with a wryly amused smile. "Most gently bred girls don't come to that conclusion all on their own." And he'd no reason to suspect Katerina was anything other than what she seemed. She spoke well, comported herself politely. The Petrovas were an old family--perhaps Bulgaria was not up to England's standard of civilization, but she was hardly a peasant.

He reached out a hand to brush lightly over Klaus's hair, then cradled his cheek. "Her fate means your freedom, brother. I cannot pity her for it. There are plenty of pretty girls in the world." Though they didn't have such enchanting eyes, or fragile air of vulnerability laced with strength. Or a smile that made him remember how the sun had felt when he was human. It did not burn now, no, but it was not the same, either.

Those were all traitorous thoughts, though, and he was trying very hard not to even acknowledge them to himself.