Temmin left his mother's rooms, so deep in thought he barely looked up until he took to the stairs leading down into the family's informal entrance to the Keep, Harsin's sigil in gold inlay upon the huge doors. He wanted to dirty it with soot. How could the King have hurt her so? How could Harsin prefer any other woman to her? She was kind and beautiful, she was cheerful and loving; she was his Mama, and how could any man be cruel to her? The footmen took one look at his scowl and swept the doors open just a little faster than usual, not a ripple of interest on their professionally still faces.
A groom held Jebby's bridle; the big chestnut pawed in good-natured boredom at the fine gravel beneath his hooves. Temmin's anger swerved to apprehensive excitement. He mounted and rode down the switchbacks and the long, long drive to the massive gates at the entrance to the grounds. There he waited, silently rehearsing a little greeting meant to sound nonchalant and sophisticated. "How terribly good of you to come, Miss Obby, or should I say, Holy One, ha ha." No, that didn't sound right...Read the rest of this post