Zephyr
We drove through the night, and I spent every mile of it drafting orders in my head, and by the time the mansion lights came up through the pines at dawn, I had built her a fortress inside my fortress.
Six guards, rotating, dedicated to her wing and her person. No unaccompanied movement beyond the inner walls. The village trips suspended. The gallery above the training yard, glassed in by winter anyway, would serve for her air. The mail sack would be searched at the gate by two wolves and a nose I trusted. It was a good plan. It was airtight, professional, and complete, and I had it fully drafted before I understood what I was drafting, which was the terms of her imprisonment, written by a man who loved, there, I have used the word, even here it took me three attempts, written by
