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a want for nothing leads only to a bleak existence. It’s good for the soul to have something to crave; to tend; to strive for.
Agatha Joubert shall enter into marriage with the Crown Prince of Seagovia, His Highness, Thackery Frederic Peridot III, before the leaves hath all fallen and frost kisses the castle garden.
“She shall come,” he recited, “shrouded in black, but not of mourning…” With a continued look of astonishment, he reached out and pointed to her black skirts before looking at her face. “With eyes of the honey moon.”
Agatha straightened. “I will not run. You have my word, and you may give it to them. But I cannot promise to be kind to your prince.” To her utter shock, Lord Gaius’ face broke into a wide grin, rendering him alarmingly attractive. “He should only think you quite boring if you were.”
“You mean to tell me your prince has worked with diligence to be a pompous arse?”
The books in that blasted library had better detail world domination with great accuracy if this was the price one paid for knowledge that should be free.
He flexed his hands into fists and stretched them out again. They burned from where he’d touched Agatha, as if her very skin was on fire.
