“And who is your father? A rebellious peasant with fire in his
heart?” the king asked sternly. “Has he come to throw me off
the throne?”
A smarter child would have withdrawn from the conversation, but no one had ever accused me of being intelligent.
Tucking the unruly lock of raven hair behind my ear, I acknowledged the king’s question: “I can’t say I remember what he was
exactly, but I do know who he was.”
The king shifted in his leather saddle, probing gently, “Is he
no longer with your family?”
The maddening curl had once again found itself dangling
in my face, and I batted it away, irritated. “I had no mother. My
father left one day and didn’t return. Since then I’ve made a life
for myself among the children in Miss’ care.”
“I see she doesn’t impart manners onto her charges,” the
king remarked, a kind light in his eye.
I couldn’t stop from smiling. “Oh, sir, she’s tried something
awful. But with me, they never seem to stick!”
“Try to mind your etiquette next time,” the king advised.
“Not every noble is forgiving.”
“I’ll try, sir,” I told him. He rewarded me with a smile before tapping his heels against his mount. It obeyed, stepping
forward, and the king continued his parade through Jarn.
I watched the company as they continued down the avenue, sweeping the curl behind my ear. I turned back towards
the alley that led back to the Singing Crow, the inn Miss and
Henry owned. William would find me later; he always did.
Then I noticed the flowers I held, clasped in one dainty
hand. Although I had clenched them aggressively, their stems
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