Sixteen models, one chapter. Pick two.

The ledger was not locked. It was the drawer that was locked.

Seria woke at dawn. At the main house, it had always been that way. If she was up before the maids came, no one needed to come wake her, and a person no one needed to wake was easily forgotten. But in this house, before she had even opened her door, Lisette was standing in the hallway.

"I knew you'd be awake." Lisette was carrying a tray. A cup of tea, two slices of bread without butter, half an apple. "You don't eat much in the morning, my lady."

Seria did not eat much in the morning. She had never told Lisette that.

"Is that on the list?" she asked.

Lisette almost smiled, then stopped herself. "His Grace writes the list, my lady. I only read it."

The study was exactly as it had been yesterday. The seat by the window was empty, and on the desk the green leather ledger lay open—a fresh page, marked with today's date. The first page she was to fill in her own hand. An inkwell, a pen, blotting paper. And at the lower right of the desk, a small drawer with a keyhole.

Seria did not try to open it. Not trying to open things was one of the things she did best. Instead she sat down, picked up the pen, and wrote the first line. Twenty sacks of grain, from the south storehouse. Forty candles. Three letters, sender not noted.

Partway through the third line, she stopped. Three letters. When she had arrived yesterday, there had been three of them in the entrance hall. This morning, those letters were nowhere to be found.

"You don't need to note the sender."

She knew from the voice alone; there was no need to turn around. Kael Ardent stood at the doorway. She could not tell how long he had been there. He was a man who made no sound when he moved, and she was a woman who listened for footsteps—and still.

"Your Grace." Seria started to rise.

"Sit." He came into the room and went to the spot by the window where he had stood yesterday. She realized, a moment too late, that he was not looking outside—he was looking at her reflection in the glass. "You left the apple."

"……Yes."

"Was half too much?"

"No. I only meant to eat it later."

"Then eat it later," he said. It was not a command. It was a confirmation. By this evening he would know whether she had eaten the apple or not. Seria did not ask how he would know. Not asking was another thing she was good at.

"The drawer," he said to her in the glass. "It won't open without a key. There is only one key, and I have it."

"I didn't try to open it."

"I know." For the first time, he turned. His pale eyes touched her and then, as they had yesterday, did not move away. "That's why I'm telling you. For the day you find you want to open it."

He left. Again, his footsteps made no sound. Seria gazed at the third line for a long while, then, leaving the sender's space blank, moved on to the next.

The apple stayed on the desk until evening. And in the evening, Lisette cleared it away without a word.

The ledger was not locked. The drawer was.

Seria woke before dawn. It had always been that way at the main house. If she was up before the maids came, no one needed to wake her, and people who didn't need waking were easily forgotten. But in this house, before she even opened her door, Lisette was standing in the corridor.

"I thought you'd be awake." Lisette was carrying a tray. A cup of tea, two pieces of bread without butter, half an apple. "You don't eat much in the mornings, my lady."

Seria didn't eat much in the mornings. She had never told Lisette that.

"Is it on the list?" she asked.

Lisette almost laughed, and caught herself. "The master writes the list, my lady. I only read it."

The study was exactly as it had been yesterday. The seat by the window was empty, and on the desk the green leather ledger lay open. A fresh page, dated today. The first page she was to fill in her own hand. Inkwell, pen, blotting paper. And at the lower right of the desk, one small drawer with a keyhole.

Seria did not try to open it. Not trying to open things was one of the things she did best. Instead she sat down, took up the pen, and wrote the first line. Twenty sacks of grain, from the southern storehouse. Forty candles. Three letters, senders not recorded.

She stopped the pen at the third line. Three letters. There had been three on the hall table when she arrived yesterday. This morning, the letters were nowhere to be found.

"You need not record the senders."

She knew the voice without turning. Kael Ardent stood in the doorway. She couldn't tell for how long. He was a man who made no sound when he walked, and she was someone who listened for footsteps.

"My lord." Seria began to rise.

"Sit." He came into the room and went to the window seat, where he had stood yesterday. He wasn't looking outside, she realized a moment late—he was looking at her reflection in the glass. "You left the apple."

"…Yes."

"Was even half too much?"

"No. I was going to eat it later."

"Then eat it later," he said. It was not an order. It was a confirmation. He would know, by tonight or so, whether she ate the apple or not. Seria didn't ask how he would know. Not asking was another thing she did well.

"The drawer," he said to her reflection in the glass, "doesn't open without a key. There is only one key, and I have it."

"I didn't try to open it."

"I know." For the first time, he turned around. Pale eyes settled on her and, as yesterday, did not move. "That's why I'm telling you. For the day, someday, when you want to open it."

He left. Again, no footsteps. Seria stared at the third line for a long while, then moved on to the next, leaving the sender column blank.

The apple stayed on the desk until evening. And in the evening, Lisette took it away without a word.