His door was unlocked. Candle in hand, he glanced up sharply when I turned the handle and opened it; I caught him readying for bed, coatless, in a white shirt and dark breeches. He took one look at me, then another, staring hard. “I’m not Baudoin de Trevalion,” he said harshly. “I’ve no need of a farewell gift, Phèdre.” I closed the door behind me. “If it’s easier on you to be cruel,” I said softly, “I understand. I will go. But if it’s not … how do you want to remember it, Hyacinthe? On a battlefield outside Bryn Gorrydum, or here, like this?” For another long moment he stood staring, then
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