Chapter 8: The Prince's Inspection

My brother ate Nan's bread at our table.

"A little dry," Darian said, chewing. "But charming. Everything here is charming."

He had slept in my husband's bed.

No one had asked.

He had walked in at midnight, taken the lord's room, and sent Garrick to the stables with a wave of his rings.

Now it was morning, and he sat at the head of the long kitchen table, golden and relaxed.

Twelve royal riders were eating the Greywold pantry empty in the yard.

Nan stood behind him with her arms folded and the face of a woman choosing which pot to throw.

"I came to inspect my sister's new home," Darian said. "Father worries. He can't sleep for worrying."

"He sleeps like a log," I said. "I've heard him through two walls."

My brother smiled.

"There she is. The Ink Princess, with teeth."

Garrick sat at the foot of the table with his hands flat on the wood.

He had not said a word since the prince walked in.

"Tell me, Ser," Darian said. "Is she good to you? She has a reputation for being cold."

"The princess has been kind," said Garrick.

"Kind. How dull."

Darian put down his bread and turned his rings on his fingers, one by one.

"Do you know, I want my boots brought in from the yard."

"My men could do it, but it wouldn't be the same."

He did not look at Garrick.

He did not have to.

"Kindle," he said lightly. "Bring my boots."

The grey lines on my husband's neck flared.

I was watching for it this time.

Three small runes lit first, on the left side below his ear, and then a long line down his spine.

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