“Perhaps you could start a collection of mercenaries,” said Lady Devereaux, apparently having collected herself enough to make jabs. “Be quiet, cousin,” Elma said, vibrating with pent-up emotion, “or I’ll sic him on you.” Rune caught her eye, and she thought she saw a predatory glint there. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I am a shield, not your attack dog.”
