“I’d take that as sarcasm if someone else said it.” Ethan fell into step alongside her, as was his job. Knights assigned to gate duty were required to act as escorts for any member of the imperial family leaving the security of the palace. Had she been her brother or father, Ethan wouldn’t have said a word. He’d have silently followed behind, shadowing her steps and keeping as invisible as possible. Any attempt at familiarity would have been rebuffed and a complaint lodged with the Teshlor Guild. Farilane was different, and the knights knew it. She liked them, and they liked her.

Ethan pointed at the greasy fellow, who clearly didn’t appreciate being pointed at by a man in armor carrying three swords. “Who’s he?”

“Don’t know.”

“Honey merchant?”

Farilane laughed. “Tell me something, Ethan. Why is it that all of you are so damn handsome?”

“I’m serious. Who is he?”

“I’m serious, too. I don’t know who he is, and you are handsome. Is the ability to make women faint merely by smiling a prerequisite for knighthood?”

“Why are you following him, then?”

Ethan was going all Teshlor-serious on her and not playing along.

“He’s taking me to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where?”

“No idea. That’s why I’m following him.”

The day was bright and warm, the sky a wonderful springtime blue. Along the Grand Marchway, the trees retained their blossoms. Founder’s Day was two weeks ago, but tremble stands persisted, the merchants trying to move the remainder of their stock before it went bad. Farilane loved trembles. The fermented fruit juice served in cute little thimble-shaped cups were only available for a short time each spring, making the drink special. “Liquid spring,” her mother used to call it. “Sure to cure the winter gloom and make way for summer bloom.”

“I’m starting to wish the honey story were true,” Ethan said, his eyes still on their guide.

She flashed him a wicked smile. “I bet you do.”

The three marched through the square where a crowd had formed around a bald man in a plain white pallium standing on a weathered crate that had once held eggs. Gesticulating wildly, he shouted about the evils of wine and women.

“You should listen to him,” Farilane advised the knight.

Ethan gave her a smirk. “Why heed a priest when a goddess walks beside me?”

She grinned. “Wow, you’re good.”

“At many things, princess. At many, many things.”

Her brows lifted. “I stand corrected. You’re awful.”

“You there!” Ethan called to their guide. “What’s your name?”