*Tia*
His fingers loosen their hold, and he takes my hand, placing it on his forearm before leading me into the newspaper office. The smell of ink is sharp, the printing press taking up a good portion of the small space.
“Prince Killian!” a man with salt-and-pepper hair sitting behind a desk exclaims as he jumps to his feet. “Congratulations are in order, I hear.”
“I daresay, Mr. Moore, that you wrote as much.”
The man’s face turns a mottled red, the blush creeping up until it disappears in his receding hairline. “The vicar said nuptials had taken place, and as it is my job to report the news, I did so immediately. Did I offend?”
“Not at all. My princess, allow me to introduce Mr. Moore, our intrepid newspaper owner and reporter.”
His fingers are ink-stained, the lenses of his specta
