In The Past
Roger was as fierce as his sigil, yet Rylene could only look placid to soothe his mood.
Inside, she was writhing snakes, and wished she could lash out without the men-at-arms near to draw their swords.
"He is a squire ," bellowed Roger, whose volume, Rylene supposed, must mete out authority. "Take her horse."
What if he must squeak? What if he must console and compromise, like me?
It was her home, so to be under arrest was no great loss. Outside, the sheep followed one another, and whatever relief the goats might feel, was sullen in her heart. She turned her back and rubbed her belly.
I knew it would not come to pass, already. But he cannot rid me of the hope I hold so dear.