Adrian followed behind an Alcer family with two girls eligible trailing behind them in bright orange dresses toward Raphael and the rest of the Talkro group. He kept a few paces back from them, careful not to lock eyes when the girls looked back at him, feigning disinterest. Their father and mother began with Raphael and worked their way down the line, asking pointless questions about their trades and whatnot, harumphing disappointment and whispering to themselves while the girls made faces and giggled to each other.

  Once he was able to get to Raphael, he reached up and pulled Raphael’s lips back over his teeth. “Bad teeth,” He turned Raphael’s head. “Ears are dirty. Arms too long. Too skinny. Certainly has a small prick. Not good for fathering sons. I’ll pay no more than a copper.”

  The line snickered. Raphael laughed. The Alcer father shot him a sharp glare from in front of Dalfur. His two girls were tucking their heads together to stifle their own laughs. He ushered his family away.

  “Should be glad you’re not standing here. We’d never get a look after,” Andre called from his spot in the line. “Why aren’t you going on the pole anyway?”

  “He’s a noble, that’s why,” Chase was quick to answer for him. “It’s beneath him.”

  Adrian gaped at him, “Beneath me? No. Trust, friend, it would be an honor to have my life so simple. All I have to do is stand there and let her come to me?”

  “Yeah, until you end up with one like her,” Bruce lifted a chin toward an Alcer girl getting a dripping cup from Charlotte at the barrels. “Have to put the blindfold back on to be able to finish the wedding night.”

  Adrian took a quick look. She wasn’t pretty, with eyes that were too small and close together for her plump round face and had a figure that spoke volumes of her family’s comforts. But when she smiled at children chasing past her, he shrugged at what that might mean for one who wanted some of his own. She had a pretty smile. He went to Bruce and swatted his hair.

  “I’d be happy with that one,” Samma said with a shrug at the others. “Or any of them, really. Even Senna.”

  “My father said Senna won’t be on mine,” Raphael said with a heaviness.

  “Nor mine,” Dalfur shook his head. “Though, I think in my case, I’m thankful for that. I’d be fighting him day in and out to keep him off of her.”

  Adrian furrowed his brow at them. “Who’s Senna and why are they against her?”

  “She’s always been a slut, even before she spread her legs for anyone who gave her attention,” Chase said it as if it were common knowledge.

  A few of them echoed, “Truth is truth.”

  “She and my Pa had a spat behind my mother’s back in the spring,” Dalfur turned an eye on him. “Some blame her. I don’t. I blame Pa, same as my mother, but doesn’t change that she might have let him have her. So, none will let her dance the ribbon for us.”

  “Your father is a filthy shit and needs to have his eyes blackened the way he does your ma for what he did to her,” Chase growled down the line. “Senna doesn’t deserve to be destitute for being an idiot anymore than the rest of us.” He and his brother, Andre, spat.

  “So, why not one of you take her as a wife before you dance the ribbon, then?” Adrian looked them over. He faced Chase and Andre.

  “She’s our cousin,” Andre blinked at him.

  The rest hung their heads. They agreed with the sentiments. All, except Samma, who was leaning his head sideways and staring into the sky as if he were listening to something. Adrian narrowed his eyes at that. There was a chance that the young man was listening to someone, that he might be an undiscovered Paladin, but Adrian knew better than to leap to conclusions on that. He had suspicions about this group. They were a unit already.

  “That’s the right way to having children who look nothing like you,” Bruce raised a brow at him.

  “Perhaps,” Adrian nodded. “Then again, you’re not what I would call ‘a looker’ yourself. Might help the next generation get better wives and husbands.”

  The group chuckled.

  Bruce nodded, “Shit on you, but truth is truth.”

  “Can we do that?” Samma leaned to say.

  They all turned to him.

  “What?” Samma straightened. “I don’t want to be tied up. And she’s always been nice to me. Maybe not the same way as she is to all of you. But, what if not even the Alcer shits will let her dance either? Then what happens to her?”

  Chase was the one who spoke when the others sank into their own thoughts. “She’d end up begging on the streets or fleeing to the city once Uncle Morin gets tired of housing her.”

  Adrian found a spot to lean and crossed his arms as he listened.

  “Well, it’s me, Bruce, or Dalfur, and Dalfur’s Pa makes him a bad choice for her. So, you or me, but one of us should do it,” Samma took a step from the line.

  Bruce shook his head. “I’m not—no. Why would I? I never cared for her, nor she me.”

  “She’s a Talkrois. We swore an oath, remember.”

  “I don’t remember my marriage being part of that oath,” Bruce huffed.

  “It wasn’t, that’s true,” Adrian nodded. He leaned to look to Samma, “Your oaths were to protect the Royal family and theirs. But, if Samma considers this part of his oath, who are you to decide that for him? Your oaths are between you and God, not each other. Samma, what does your soul say? Not your heart.”

  “My soul?” Samma looked ahead of him, blinking.

  Another family approached, stopping in front of Adrian. He waved them on with a shake of his head to Raphael, who stiffened with a smile. The father looked him over while his wife and daughter regarded him with looks of disdain.

  “He has nice teeth,” the mother said.

  Stifled snickers. Except from Samma, near the end of the line, who was fixed on the ribbon pole.

  “What is your trade, boy?” The father asked.

  “I’m a fur trader, skinner, and worker of leathers,” Raphael answered proudly. “My father is Balthazar Villiers.”

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  “Good stock, then,” the father approved. He turned back to his daughter, “You have longevity in your family? Brothers?”

  “Sisters,” Raphael said to be answered by the father’s scoff.

  The father moved on to Dalfur beside him, who stood nearly a head taller, and was twice as broad. “You, what is your trade?” To his wife, “Missing teeth, probably a fighter. You drink, boy?”

  Dalfur narrowed his eyes. “Blacksmith and I’m no drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No longer asking you,” the man went to Andre next, his wife and daughter acting as if Dalfur were a shadow.

  Samma shook his head. “Adrian,” he said, stepping from the line. Adrian perked. “Take me to the King?”

  Adrian grinned, “Absolutely.”

  “Where are you going?” It was Chase who reached to stop him.

  Samma pulled his arm from Chase’s reach. “I’m going to ask permission to marry Senna. Jesus Christ ate with sinners and spoke to prostitutes. None of us are better than them. I know I’m not. Why does she deserve punishment and we better after what we done?”

  The father gave him an odd look from in front of Hugo. “I haven’t gotten to you, yet, boy. Perhaps, once I see your other worths, you will change your mind over that harlot.”

  All of them turned glares on him. Their line curled around the edges, nearly encircling his family if not for Adrian’s subtle and slow shake of his head at them.

  Hugo spoke for them when he said, “Move on and keep your daughter off our poles, old man. You know not of whom you speak.”

  The father’s wide eyes regarded them for a moment before he ushered his family away.

  “Go,” Hugo said to Samma. “You wish to take her as your wife, that is your right to ask before the dance, and you have our support if she says yes. We all will defend her honor from this day forth if she becomes yours.”

  “And if she doesn’t,” Samma eyed them. “This isn’t for me. It’s for her. She needs a husband. If we need to, maybe we should mark Egan like Adrian did the knight to make sure she can.”

  Dalfur raised a brow at him. Samma took a step back from his gaze. To Adrian, it was like seeing Goliath look down at David.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Samma winced.

  “Only if I get to do it,” Dalfur winked.

  “Honor thy father and mother,” Adrian reminded them. “Let God judge them.”

  Dalfur scoffed. “Sometimes I wonder how long that judgment will take.”

  “Don’t we all,” Adrian smiled. He motioned for Samma, “Come on, the King’s over there.”

  Samma leapt a step to follow him as he went to where Draka was meandering around the vendor stands with Maud. She was holding up batches of lavender and jars of seasons for him to smell while Leta was gathering others for them to try next. Maud tucked her hair behind an ear as Adrian and Samma approached, her cheeks reddening with a sideways glance in his direction. She tapped Draka’s arm and pointed.

  “Your majesty,” Adrian winked as he bowed, much to Draka’s obvious chagrin. “Princess Maudeline.”

  “Adrian,” She was still refusing to do much more than glance sideways at him. Her smile was unfading and her cheeks were flush.

  Draka narrowed his eyes between them, forming into a glare at Adrian, who met it with a shrug. Then he looked Samma over with a pursed brow.

  “Go ahead,” Adrian nudged Samma forward.

  Samma kept his head lowered as he stumbled toward Draka. “Your ma—ma—majesty, I wanted to—I came to ask…I was wondering…my King…”

  Draka tipped his head at the young man. He held out a questioning hand for Adrian.

  “Want me to ask for you?” Adrian whispered.

  Samma shook his head, drew in a breath, and straightened to meet Draka eye-to-eye. “I came to ask for your permission…”

  “Blessing,” Adrian corrected him.

  “…Blessing to ask Morin Greshon for his daughter, Senna’s hand in marriage,” Samma gulped loudly when he finished and took a wincing step back.

  “Truly?” Maud finally faced them with a shocked expression.

  Draka regarded Samma for a moment, then turned to Maud. She gave him a myriad of expressions and gestures, and he gave her replies of the same, some looking like questions and others looking like simple statements. Adrian watched them in awe. He had never seen anything like it.

  “Please don’t talk him out of it, I beg you,” Samma whispered to Maud.

  “Talk?” Adrian turned on Samma. “They’re not saying anything. Draka, are you going to answer the poor man? He’s only got a few hours before he can’t ask her.”

  Maud and Draka, facing each other, both held up fingers for him to wait. Adrian pulled his head back at it. They were talking! Without a single word spoken, they were having a full conversation and he was just told to wait his turn.

  No, Adrian gaped. That is my warden! I’m supposed to be close enough to him that I can talk to him without words, not someone who knew him for a few months! What is this? How…why…this can’t be possible.

  “Odd, isn’t it?” Samma was just patiently waiting as if it were a normal thing.

  This was not a normal thing. Adrian had spent his entire life—well, as long as he could remember—with Draka and he couldn’t do that. How could they…? He fought in battles with Draka. He was in the mud and snow, he suffered at his side, they had years together, and she can merely look at him and have a conversation?

  Draka turned and nodded to Samma with a warm grin.

  “Good luck,” Maud said, “And tell Morin that your union is favored by the King himself if he allows it.”

  “Thank you!” Samma bowed as he took frantic steps backwards. “Thank you, your Majesty, Princess. Thank you!”

  “The bloody hell was that?” Adrian shrieked at them. Maud’s blushing disappeared along with her grin. Draka’s brows returned to being furrowed. “This is not okay! I’m going to tell mum when she gets here! We’ll see what she thinks of…whatever that was. Does the Regent know you two can do that?”

  “You’re going to tell your maman on us?” Maud and Draka both crossed their arms.

  Adrian wagged a finger between them in disgust, “It’d be my father if I could. Despicable.” He turned and began walking away, still wagging that finger at them, “You two should be ashamed. Shame on you.” He pointed at Draka. “Especially you! We fought a war, you taught me…everything! For shame. I’m getting another drink.”

  “I think he might be jealous,” Maud said loud enough that he could hear, a bit of a laugh in the way she said it.

  Adrian was halfway to the ribbon pole when he spun around with a finger jabbing toward the ground, “I have a right to be jealous! He’s my Draka, you usurper of Drakas. Speaking without speaking, you monster. Now, I think I’ll have two cups, what do you think of that, Draka?”

  Draka narrowed his eyes at him, uncrossing his arms.

  “Oh, wait,” Adrian shook at him, “Doesn’t matter, because you’re her Draka now. Shame. Shame on both of you. I’ll feel much better in about ten minutes but right now, I’m really mad at both of you! Either of you need drinks or a snack?”

  Draka chuckled. Maud looked completely confused. Draka motioned that he should get something for Maud.

  “Still angry,” Adrian wagged his finger at them. “But I’ll be back with a candied apple for you, Princess.” He pointed, “You, Draka, get water. Just enough to wet your mouth and no more. Shame. Shame on you.”