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“I told you before, Katsa. I won’t fight when you’re angry. I won’t solve a disagreement between us with blows.”
“You . . . you have a way of upending my plans,” he said, and she cried out and sank to
her knees, then heaved herself up furiously before he could come to her, and help her, and touch her.
“Katsa, a man would be a fool to try to keep you in a cage.”
Her Grace was not killing. Her Grace was survival.
She wore a ring on a string around her neck, a ring that Po had given her before he’d climbed onto the back of his horse
