“I received a letter today, too,” Julien says. “Oh?” “From my mother.” Julien tightens his embrace. “She gives us her blessing.” Whisper twists to look up at him, his disbelief clear. Julien presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Well. Her exact words were, ‘I suppose I can’t stop you, and better an assassin than that weaselly Pellerin boy.’”
