Eventually, even Maria and your bellies are full enough for the time being that it is time to wind the way down from the pirates' cove. Left behind are the nixies and mers, the smugglers and sailors, the tritons, the grizzled old centaur. The sun has set, there are torches lit, bonfires being lit upon the plains and in the fields. Everything is brightness and shadow, and it is simple enough to make the way back through the underground tunnels to within the castle's walls.
She is in less of a hurry than previously; a full stomach and slightly damp clothing and hair combined with the darkness and cool of sunset's aftermath has her shivering just a trifle. She is strolling all the same, watching people preparing for the final bits of celebration. Here and there, lovers grope in shadows, female giggles and gasps paired with more masculine chuckles and moans, and she averts her gaze studiously to just ahead of her.
"...I hope you enjoyed yourself, your highness." She is suddenly prim, proper, the very picture of a princess, as if she had a stick up her you-know-where. "And that you have formed no negative impressions of my mother's kingdom." Maria is not looking at you, even; she looks straight ahead at the castle gates, glaring at them.
His jacket was the only part of his attire that remained dry. Hours later, he is still damp. Leather is certainly not comfortable wet. He feels a bit clammy, but he has the good graces not to share that. And so, for your shivering, his jacket - warmed by him personally - is offered to you. "I have only the best sort of impression, I assure you. The food was amazing."
After a day in his company, you have learned that the prince loves his food, and knowing how obvious that is, he is sure to point it out at every opportunity. It is food for humor, as well as his belly.
If he hears the lovers wrangling away, he doesn't give any hint of it. He walks beside you. "I've had a very lovely day. I am not overly anxious to leave, to be honest. And, despite your willingness to not like me," he smiles at that, "... you've been a great hostess, Princess Maria. I should not have wanted for another companion in feasting or swimming. Sorry about the dunking," he mentions quietly in aside.
He does not glare at the gates. They - and what they symbolize - are inevitable. Gruffydd Rhudd Draig simply walks through them, content to remain in your company. He looks ahead, but also to you with regularity. His hand closest to you is not so far from your own. The sounds in the darkness make him want to tangle his fingers with yours.
She accepts the jacket, after an abortive motion of refusal. Maybe it's just logic; maybe something else. She draws it around her shoulders with a murmur of thanks all the same. "My mother always makes sure there's food for everyone. Nobody should ever have to go hungry, she always says. She says the library's the cornerstone of the entire kingdom, because in it's information on how to make anything work."
She hears the lovers, and does her best to pretend she doesn't, cheeks crimson with the effort. Maria glances over at you, turning to lead you towards a flight of stairs. Even here, the shadows are more occupied than not. It is the height of midsummer. Rutting is in the air.
"I'm glad you liked it." The admission is quiet, and painfully sincere. She may as well have said I'm glad you liked me. Maria darts her glance away; her hand brushes yours, twitches convulsively as if scalded, and sneaks behind her back to hide. "I'll show you the library. It's where mum usually has us check in, anyway."
There are thoughts lurking behind her brow; strands of damp hair curling against her cheeks, plastered there in kiss-curls left by the sea water. She is fighting a battle against herself, and the trouble with such battles is, winning or losing, it's all the same. "Besides," she mutters, "mother probably will want to see you..."
His pinkie is quick; it curls around a little finger of your own before your hand twitches away. We're being serenaded, he thinks to himself. Soft sighs and captured breaths are like the wind around you both. Lovers make little whispered songs in darkness. It is hard not to be swept up in it.
"I'm sure they'll both be waiting up," he murmurs conspiratorially with you. "Maybe we can have breakfast and compare our interrogations?" Gruffydd smiles easily, amused by it all but accepting of it in the same instance.
"She is a woman after my own stomach. I do so like that about your mother. Thank you... by the way... for letting me in on your little secret. The biscuits were phenomenal. And... I had a really enjoyable day and evening." Those periwinkle and lavender eyes, set in his dark caramel complexion, fix on you a moment, genuine and earnest. "Truly."
"Are you warm enough?" he suddenly wonders. "I should have removed my boots before diving in. They're squeaking with water yet...."
She blushes and looks vexed at her own reaction; but you have her hand, and she doesn't pull out from your grasp. She smiles a little as you murmur, dropping her gaze to her feet. "My own boots are squishing," Maria murmurs in return. "Hold on. I've an idea."
She does not answer your thanks - yet. She pulls her hand free, bending to pick loose knots tightened with sea water, hands impatient at her task. Reaching into the boot, she pulls out a knife; leather lacings are cut through quickly, and then she is pulling her feet from her boots, stuffing the boots themselves into a large urn that otherwise has only flowers. "Here, give me yours."
She shoots you a look of quick mischief, bright-eyed co-conspiratoriality, daring you to follow suit. Her own eyes are the grey of storms and silver, bright and impulsive and in the moment, entirely fearless; even of you and the perils you may represent. There is the innocence of the expanse of unmarked sand or snow, no footprints yet having left their mark upon her soul, visible in her gaze...
There is a serenity in him that is otherworldly (it belongs to his mother). And there is nothing that puts him quite in that space as to be walking barefoot on heretofore undiscovered beach. There is no need for him to have a knife to cut himself free - his boots are pried off of his feet, heel-toe. Sure, he has to wrangle a bit, but soon enough he's free. They're less boots and more ...shoes. Quite suitable for a post-modern young man - taken, as they were, from his father's closets in the grand old family tradition. If these Doc Martens could talk.
He is as fearless as you, standing on the expanse of your innocence, and with a smile he hands you the shoes. "One moment," he says and he pulls off the socks as well, stuffing them into the shoes with a smile. He doesn't question you. He simply waits to see what you shall do.
His complexion is so smooth, from his beautiful cheek to his beautiful feet. They are a little wrinkly from the sodden socks. He wrinkles his nose at the sight (more the thought) of wrinkly toes. "Yes, next time I dive in sea water, I will definitely remove my shoes first," he whispers.
She stuffs your boots in after her own, rearranging the flowers to look a little less disturbed. This time, she takes your hand, and you are tugged along towards the stairs. Her hair bounces with her rapid gait, bare feet drumming against carpeted stairs soundlessly.
She looks from side to side, eyes wide and alert, looking for brothers, parents, cousins. And then she is tugging you along what must be a servants' corridor, to pop out next to a row of doors, some open and some closed. There is a sitting room, presently unoccupied - she dismisses it, moving decisively to a door which is closed. She pushes it open, then hurries inside, tugging your hand insistently after.
Which is how, o prince, you come to find yourself in a supply closet with a princess, who releases your hand to overturn a bucket. Maria climbs onto the bucket, peering out a small window at the back, then seems to relax. "We have a few minutes," she tells you, voice barely above a stage whisper. "Nobody will find us..."
He simply adores a good conspiracy. And this is certainly one that will have the tongues of the kingdom gossips wagging. The prince and princess in a supply closet of all things - no chaperone in sight. Why, you'd think they would be consorting with common thieves and pirates.
And you'd be right...
There certainly won't be any good excuse, should they be discovered, but at least they'll both be dressed. Mostly. Apart from the shoes. That has to count for something. Doesn't it?
Standing on the bucket, you are eye to eye with the prince. "You have a thing for secret places it seems," Gruffydd whispers. A den of gypsies. A darkened supply closet. The thought of it makes him smile. You miss the dimples in the lack of full lighting, but you know he is smiling all the same.
And it is not lost on him that you and he are now two young people in the shadows, somewhat hopeful. In the quiet and in the sanctuary of those shadows, he holds your hands. His fingers tangle with your own, and he can hear you breathing. And himself.
No, the moment is not lost on him at all.
You take her hands, and she blushes again, acutely suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment. You may feel her hands tremble in your grasp. "I - I had a good time," Maria admits to you, lifting her chin in a way that must surely remind you of your grandmother (and would certainly remind her husbands). "Thank you for - being a part of it."
Why is this so hard? You can see her wondering it, see the scowl that brings the thunderheads into the grey storms of her eyes. She swings your hands in her own, looking down, and it suddenly turns into a trickle, then a torrent of words. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, is all."
Your hands are swung, and she stares at your chest, even though she is eye to eye with you. "It's just - I don't know you. I feel as if I do, but I don't, and - and you're important, and - I don't want you to think I'm trying to marry you!"
She blushes at that, furiously, stomping a foot so that the bucket wobbles precariously. "And it's midsummer, and you're here, and if I kiss you, then the stories say that means I'll marry you, and I don't know that I would - would make a good wife, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't make a good Queen, thank goodness I don't have to worry about here, though James would make a rotten king, Bryan would make a much better king even if he IS third in line for the throne, and - and I'm talking too much, I do that when I'm nervous, and," she scowls at you, briefly looking at you directly, "and oh BUGGER it."
She stomps a foot again, and this time, the bucket is having none of it. Maria lets out a yelp, her expression startled as she and the bucket part ways.
The bucket clatters - he is sure someone somewhere had to hear that - as it bolts like a colt out from under your feet, spooked by your stomping. Lucky for you, you're spared an inglorious dumping onto the closet's floor. Spared by the scooping of a prince's quick-thinking arms. The first thought that actually crosses his mind and his expression is - I hope the maids don't rush in here to investigate. This is going to look a bit compromising. But then he chuckles a little. "In some countries, I think this would count as a proposal."
You are so easy to hold. That is the second thought. And though he gently sets you down, making you now significantly shorter than he is, there is not - not even for the brief interruption of hilarity and laughter - a breaking of the quiet moment between you, no matter how unquiet it had become.
"I don't know what sort of king I will be. I hope to be a good one when it is time. It's something you learn to do. Few are ever born just... knowing how, Maria." His hand lifts, and fingers lightly brush back the salty waves of your hair. There is so much of it. That makes him smile too.
"I have had a really good day with you," Gruffydd whispers. "I like you, Maria." And he does. Hands at your face, brushing your hair past your ears and over your shoulders, he bends and kisses you sweetly, lightly.
"Happy Midsummer," Gruffydd murmurs between you. And he is as amazed as anyone that he does not blush in the moment. He blushes at the thought of blushing - but... not just now.
Compromising - to say the very least. Her eyes go wide as you scoop her up - and you set her down. She does not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Her hair ribbon has snapped free again, and her hair comes to life under your fingers, salt dribbling from it with the slight crunchy stiffness in places as it is spun between your hands. She does not know what to say to you; her gaze darts wildly, to the door, to the window, to your face.
Your face, which is entirely too close. Superstitious fear is superstitious fear; you kiss her, and there is tumult in front of you, the rapidity of her heartbeat, the expression on her face even as soft lips part unsteadily beneath your own. Her fingers slide against your shirt, twining in the fabric, against the buttons. And whereas you do not blush, she blushes enough for both of you.
"What did you go and do that for?" Maria hisses at you. It is belated, and she does not pull away quite as fast as she should if she were truly enraged. Her hands absently straighten your shirt, then and only then jerking away as if you've burned her. She looks to the door. "...I'd better get you to the library. Before - before someone comes."
His eyes lowered to your hands upon his chest as the kiss completed, and the close confines of the closet began to warm. Your blushing cheeks are as good as a brazier's light.
"Well, if it is only a superstition, then what harm? And if isn't... I should rather you be fated to marry me than someone else. What if you had accidently kissed someone you didn't like? Stranger things have happened." There is a certain kind of logic to that, however improbable.
But there is a greater logic to what you say. "I suppose it wouldn't be a credit to my reputation, or I dare say your own, to be caught canoodling in a supply closet. Quite right." Pushing the bucket well away with his foot to prevent any other tripping incident, Gruffydd stands aside, a hand gesturing for you to go ahead.
"I promised my father I wouldn't come home married, however. I didn't say I wouldn't return home with... the possibility of such. Would you... well, all fates and superstitions aside... would you even be interested in such a thing, Maria?"
She hurries to the door, rushing past you, only to halt with a hand on the knob. You are speaking. And - you are saying such things...
"If I'd been asked before today," Maria tells you, not daring to look at you, "I would have said absolutely not. Me, bride to the future High King? I - I don't know. Why are you asking me this." Her tone goes cross, and she glowers at the door.
You are difficult. She wants to throw something at you. You can see it, in the twitch of her shoulders, even as she looks back over one at you.
"I like you," Maria tells you crossly, making an accusation of the words. "I did not want to like you, Gruffydd ap Iowerth. I - I will get you to my mother. I will think about what you're asking and tell you once I've thought about it. Take it or leave it!"
She swings the door open, flouncing out to the hallway, leaving you to stay in with the brooms, or to follow her wild hair and the scowl that you can sense, even if it is not turned on you but away. You have her flustered and on the retreat.
"I have that effect on people I hear," and how he sounds like his father there. One of his two fathers, that is. But to the rest, he simply smiles, hands interlaced behind his back as he follows you.
As you lead him to the library, you walking several paces ahead - actually, you're marching more than walking - Gruffydd removes a peacock feather from the sleeve of his shirt. To be completely honest, it materialized in his grasp. "Would you do me a favor, Maria?"
He does not wait to see if you will say Yes, No or Get Hanged...
"I will be leaving shortly. The tour must continue. But... I would like to correspond. You do not have to answer the hypothetical now, or even ever if you do not wish. But... I should very much like to write you when I'm not here..."
Writing. That's the same as courting in some kingdoms.
"If you wouldn't mind," Gruffydd softly posits. His face darkens despite himself. He smirks at his own flushing, his dimples revealing themselves.
She is hurrying down the corridor, dashing ahead of you, but now she turns, both hands upon one of the doors as she looks at you - and away. "I ... yes, I suppose," Maria allows, blushing as well and looking to her bare feet, hers and yours. "If - if you would like to write to me, you may. I don't promise to write back!" Her chin comes up with that flash in grey eyes, the wildness of her hair framing her face. "...But if you want to write..."
She turns away again, shoving open the doors. Beyond them is the library; inside, Queen Anna is sitting cozily, drinking a cup of tea as she goes over some accounts. "Hello, dear," she tells her daughter placidly. "You had a good time, I hope? Your highness, come in, won't you? Maria, if you'll check your room, I've put something in there for you - just something I need you to take care of before bed. Prince Gruffydd, would you like some tea and cheese biscuits? Maria helped make them, you know."
"No pressure," he says easily, offering the small peacock feather to you. "I just think it would be nice to have someone to talk to as I take a trip around the known worlds. This way, you will have all the benefits but none of the packing."
Gruffydd twirls the feather, rubbing the stem between his thumb and forefinger, before tapping your nose with it. "Here. I know what you're thinking," he smiles as if he does, in fact, know. "Great. He gives me a feather. What's next: lint? But it's not an ordinary feather. Should you decide to write me, and this gift certainly does not obligate you, the letter that bears its ink will know just where to send itself. Otherwise, it might be very tricky indeed to correspond with any surety. It's ...Crown Prince Express, you might say."
Barefooted, the Crown Prince turns and bows in one fluid, graceful motion as the doors swing open to reveal Queen Anna. He straightens and pivots to Maria. "I had a very lovely afternoon, Maria," he says warmly, knowing she is about to leave for the night. "Truly." He is staring, and he realizes it, so he breaks the spell of it with a nod of his head. "Good night and pleasant dreams..."
And now... for his first diplomatic assignment: facing the Queen. His caramel colored skin, such an oddly beautiful combination with his periwinkle and lavender eyes, is a little ruddy, just now. "I think tea and cheese biscuits would be just the thing to end a marvelous day. Did she?" He looks back toward Maria - or maybe it will be the sight of her running to get out of the line of fire as soon as possible. He is smiling, the dimples starting to crest again. "I'm looking forward to those then."
She takes the feather, giving it the same uncertain look she then gives you; mixed feelings in her face. "That isn't what I was thinking," Maria mumbles. She lifts her chin pugnaciously, glaring at you. "I was thinking that I'm not sure how I feel about taking gifts from you. It seems as if it might set a bad precedent."
Maria whirls away with that parting shot, the wild cloud of her hair billowing out. The feather is still held in her hands, all the same.
Anna chuckles, looking amused and tolerant, motioning to get your attention. "I make sure all my children know how to take care of themselves. In more ways than they might realize. My sons didn't much like being forced into cooking lessons, but it's good for them - it builds tolerance. And humility - the future king being able to bake an apple pie. They don't appreciate it now, but in thirty years..."
She motions you to the chair opposite hers, leaning back to lift the teapot, smile as cheerful as when you first arrived. "I'm glad you and Maria get along so well. Believe me, if you didn't, she wouldn't have spent the day with you. She's not very good at enduring things gracefully, yet."
He is a tall thing. It is evident, of course, when he's standing around. But it's even more evident when he takes a seat. Long legs need space, and even when he is sitting properly and straight he needs a lot of territory. Gruffydd's laughter is warm and soft as you mention the princes and their pies. "That's going to make them very popular, if it hasn't already. My papa Tiernan taught me how to construct mechanical forms. Not as tasty as pie, of course, but certainly humbling nonetheless."
He pauses for the pouring of a cup of tea and the procuring of a cheese biscuit. "She endured me with a great deal of grace I think," he smiles at that. "Even if despite herself in the beginning. I like Maria. I wasn't being political when I said i had a lovely day. I truly did. She is fun to be around. Playful." He blushes a touch as he hopes you take that for face value. "She is smart, willful, sweet and lively. She reminds me of my grandmother, actually. I think they would get on quite well."
"She is falling for you." Anna says it with a warm tolerance, but also a sympathy - with her daughter, and with you. "She does not yet know what she wants. And she is used to young men who want a very set ideal of womanhood - or otherwise seem to want her for her title and not who she is. You are, I think, the first young man she's met who for obvious reasons, is neither overwhelmed by nor seeking her company for reason of her title."
She will not fence with you. This is not some court mama, trying to get something out of you which you won't want to give. Her strongest weapon is her innate honesty - and her compassion, tempered by knowledge. "I think that in the long run you two could be very good for one another. She can't stay here, you know. I'm sure you've seen that well enough." The tea is poured and set in front of you, her own cup replenished, and she leans back again to observe you. Her smile is present, tolerant but filled with motherly awareness. "The question, Prince Gruffydd, is how rapidly you are able to consider such things. You two have, after all, only just met - and I know my daughter well enough to know that if you've managed to get her this compliant, you've made a very big impression indeed."
"I realize what sort of trip this is," he says with a smile. "Certainly, there are diplomatic missions. And it is certainly beneficial for the crown prince to visit and experience the cultures within his own eventual Realm. That said, I'm not so naive," naive at all, it seems, "... as to believe that to be the primary reason for the tour." His smile grows a little. "I believe it officially puts me on the market, as they say."
But he doesn't seem to mind it. What's to mind? It is inevitable.
"As to Maria, I have asked her leave to correspond during the remainder of the tour. After its conclusion, I would like to have you both visit the Capitol. I know my father would be very happy to see you. He has long talked about you. And he, and papa Tiernan and my mother, Queen Zafirah, are allowing me the liberty he did not himself have. The choice is truly mine to marry, when I marry, for love and affection. It is very important to my fathers and my mother that I follow my heart and my own mind in this matter."
Gruffydd sips at the tea a moment. "I would like to get to know her more, and to afford her the opportunity to know me. She has a say in the matter as well. At least, I would not want her to accept any sort of proposal unwillingly or with less than a full heart."
"I'm very fond of your father." Anna smiles at you, and it reaches her eyes, crinkling them with nostalgia. "I admit to believing that this is meant to be - you'll find we're all a bit superstitious here, though I try to keep logic in mind when getting things done. But things have a way of happening here that don't always, in other kingdoms - I try to make sure it's to everyone's benefit. When Maria was christened, you know, my sister had a curse placed on her?"
Probably you don't know. Her expression remains tolerant, resigned, and she nudges the plate of cheese biscuits over to you. "Of course, my sister has never been known for thinking things through, and I do believe she genuinely repented of doing so almost immediately. She did actually work hard to have the curse lifted, but in doing so, she's placed herself - and her own children - under something of a curse, in a way. She can't even look at Maria without seeing the worst parts of herself magnified and reflected; even if the rest of us could move past it, she can't allow herself to, and it poisons her, and her daughters. I've drawn the line at letting it poison my children and my kingdom. But curses can't be entirely lifted by other people; the person the curse is on has to lift it, too. Maria hasn't quite done that yet. I think you will end up being the key to her prison, Prince Gruffydd; if it isn't you, then I'm sure it will come, but it wouldn't be right for you not to know about it."
She nods calmly, having delivered herself of this pronouncement, and lifts a cheese biscuit. "I will write to your father to tell him about your visit, of course, but I'm not putting any burdens on you. We've always done quite well as it is, and while I of course want your friendship as much as the rest of your family's, that's never extended to asking for a single thing more than you'll give freely. We've our pride here, you know!" Anna chuckles, popping a crumb of biscuit into her mouth, pausing before she continues to enjoy the treat. "...Now, I did promise you I would answer any of your questions which you might have. Please, ask anything you like."
He has no trouble eating. He is on his second biscuit when you mention the curse. "No, I did not know," he responds quietly. "What sort of curse is it, if you don't mind my asking? What are the terms of it?" The Crown Prince doesn't like the idea of it, an aunt cursing a niece - particularly an engaging niece with a sense of humor. His fingers pull a piece of the biscuit. "Perhaps there is something I can do."
Apart from kiss her. I already did that. It's not all fairy tales here, it seems.
"If I am to be her key, or if she were to have a key... what would that look like? What would it be?" There is a seriousness about him that you, no doubt, recognize. While you are not familiar with Queen Zafirah's appearance, and now like her he looks, and while you may not recall Tiernan, you will easily see Iowerth in such a look. In his lavender focus. In the look of a mind in motion.
"If I am to help her, which I would of course like to do, I should know as much as possible..."
There is a smile given to you, of love and gratitude. In her mind, you are practically one of her own sons, as if fate had twisted slightly differently, you would have been. "It is mostly lifted. The only thing she needs you are already giving her, I think. You are seeing her for who she really is; and that's all any curse is, isn't it? But to alter the visage of the truth. My sister did not hire a particularly creative witch; true love's kiss will see things straight in the end. Right now," her smile broadens, "the most you could offer her is true like, dear prince."
She sips her tea, then sets her cup down. "Tell me what you are looking for. My gift is that I can help you find it. Maria has a bit of that gift, but her gift - well, it's every child's gift to their parents that we see ourselves in them, but changed." Anna chuckles, looking around at the thousands of books on their shelves. "The hard part in giving people what they are looking for is that so often they just don't know."
"If true like is what she needs, then I will find it easy to oblige her. For I do, indeed, truly like her, Queen Anna. And I know my father is very fond of you. I think he will be happy to hear that my first official visit went very well. It is, of course, no accident that this was my first official stop. You and your kingdom have a place of honor in the Capitol. We would have begun this trip no other way."
As to what he is seeking? That is a more difficult question. You see him fold his hands, his fingers steepling in thought. "It is a poor answer," Gruffydd suddenly smiles, "but it is a truthful one: I do not yet know. I have always sought to understand, to learn the patterns of the sky and the stars that fill them. To know what my vision for the kingdoms would be, how they might differ from my father's. But to know this, I will have to know myself and that is the root of Life. Experience in becoming who it is you are and will be. I do not know that I am looking for anything in particular. Other than an enriching and safe passage."
He pauses a moment. "And a really nice lemon puff, where the lemon custard is cool and creamy and the puff pastry is buttery and flaky."
"You will learn the answer to what you are looking for as you learn your other answers," Anna predicts comfortably. "You aren't driven, as your father was. You are starting with plenty, and that always makes it harder to find a need to fill. Well, Prince Gruffydd, I think you'll find your need and fill it; in due time." She chuckles merrily. "Everyone needs room to find themselves. You've got the room to explore. I'll write to your father, of course! I think of him often." Fondly, and without regret, from the look of it.
Anna rises to her feet unhurriedly. "I know you will not accept a room for the night, but it's yours if you want it, your highness. I am glad you've enjoyed your stay with us, brief as it is. I know how many kingdoms you have yet to visit!" She laughs merrily. "One of your father's gifts to me was a map of his kingdom which updates itself every time the High Kingdom expands. It's very interesting and sometimes entertaining. Maria used to spend hours in front of its frame..."
"Then she will be able to follow me as I journey along. I will be sure to let her know that at breakfast. I would like to see her before I depart." He rises as you rise, bowing. "That is, if it is okay with her mother." He smiles at you. "Oh, and her father of course."
He acknowledges all you say with a knowing smile. "I have opportunities that my father, as a crown prince, did not have. But I have a pressure he knows nothing of. I have to follow him. It will be a ... very tough act to follow, Queen Anna." Gruffydd offers you his arm. "May I escort you out before I return to my ship for the night?"
And he tucks in a couple more biscuits in his pocket -- just for good measure.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." Anna's smile is suddenly broad and knowing, and she laughs, shooing you out of the library. "All I'll say, your highness, is try to look surprised. Besides, I have to settle accounts." She indicates the ledger book in which she'd been writing when you arrived. "Good night, dear. I hope you'll enjoy your journey just as much throughout as you say you did today." And she returns her attention to her book.
Posted by rowan at June 28, 2008 08:03 PM
