They eye me as I walk by the row of them. One, three, five of them purse their lips and I’m acutely aware of something rippling beneath all their stiffness. I peer closer. One of the Faelen guards shifts his gaze toward Myles’s door. I frown. “Is Princess Rasha in her room?” “She and Lord Wellimton are already in the Negotiation Hall. The rest of you will be taken there momentarily,” a Bron guard says as, simultaneously, Lord Percival’s and Myles’s doors open. “Good morning,” the lord protectorate oaf says a bit too loud and cheery for this time of day. He shoots me a broad, suggestive grin that is clearly meant to entertain the guards. I pull my cloak tighter around my warming face and mentally stab him to a thousand deaths. I’m just begging Lady Gwen to hurry up, when a moment later she steps out to join us. The Faelen and Bron guards, including the angry-looking large one who wanted to rip my head off last night, proceed to escort us to the Hall. I refuse to look at Myles as we walk, but he sidles up to me anyway.
