He lets out a low, wry laugh at that. There is something rather reassuring, he finds, in how wide of the mark she is: it is a comfort to know that, at the very least, she cannot read his mind, or know more about him than he tells her. Not that he means to hide or dissemble, now that he has come so far that he cannot turn back, but it is good to know that her power has clear limits.
"Hardly. I am no-one's son at all." A fact whose sting has long since faded into the background, after some thirty years of orphaned life. He wonders, of course, about his parents and what fate brought him to the sisters' doors; there will always be times when, in quiet moments, he finds himself in melancholy search of clues in the scattered remnants of his earliest memories; but in the end, he has come this far with no father but the Heavenly one, and no family but those who took him in. He lengthens his stride a little, but his tone is easy enough. "I hate to disappoint you, but I cannot offer noble blood to slake your thirst. You must settle for a poor clerk's, or else call an end to our agreement."
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"Hardly. I am no-one's son at all." A fact whose sting has long since faded into the background, after some thirty years of orphaned life. He wonders, of course, about his parents and what fate brought him to the sisters' doors; there will always be times when, in quiet moments, he finds himself in melancholy search of clues in the scattered remnants of his earliest memories; but in the end, he has come this far with no father but the Heavenly one, and no family but those who took him in. He lengthens his stride a little, but his tone is easy enough. "I hate to disappoint you, but I cannot offer noble blood to slake your thirst. You must settle for a poor clerk's, or else call an end to our agreement."