He cupped my face with a hand, his thumb tracing along my cheek. His gaze shifted to my hair, to the crown. “I never should have allowed Margot to dye your hair. The red was your mother’s.” “You told me.” A long, long time ago. When I was a little girl and he hadn’t forgotten Mother yet. “Be that as it may, the brown suits you.” He kissed my forehead, then shifted to the side, elbow extended to escort me to the center ship.
