Finn
“Is that so?” Lady Marita, a visiting noblewoman from Snowcrest Canyon, leans forward over our private dining table, pressing her breasts forward in her gown.
“It is.” I glance at her miles of pale cleavage then away. Somehow, all I can think is that she should really be careful—any more leaning, and she’s going to pop right out of the low corset. “You should ask Queen Raven to tell you the story of how they used those tunnels to free the castle from my mother’s clutches someday.”
“Oh, I’d much rather hear it from you.” She bats her eyes, dark and green as a stagnant pond, as she twirls a lock of red hair, so bright I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she colors it, around one finger.
“I wasn’t there.” I prod my nearly untouched bread pudding and glance over my shoulder. Dinner at th
