Markus ran through the figures before him once more. Everything seemed to line up just right: with an idle claw he tapped at one line after another, checking with the ledger opened between him and Rhea beside him, peering at the quality of the ink along the paper. This one’s not quite right, he thought, and leaned in for a closer look. Beside him, the wolfess peered over, watched what he was doing, and then resumed her own work.

Part of truly understanding how a city worked was knowing where, how, and why its lifeblood flowed, and this was always money. Three days of this, and the foxwolf only now felt as though he had begun to understand – in between the near constant interruptions from the overbearing treasurer from which the ledgers, the reports, the communications had been borrowed, and from Kole Lan who still hadn’t left, then the tutor, and then occasionally even Lord Thorn himself. It was a dull, tedious task, and often Markus had to stand up to move his paws and look out the window and think about anything else for a moment, but… he leaned back in the chair, drew in a breath, sighed it back out.

But at least Rhea is here, too.

Then she leaned back as well, body stretching, arms coming over her head. The wolfess twisted herself to one side, held there, twisted the other way to face him. Silver-blue eyes drifted open, and took a moment to focus on him. She wet her lips, swallowed, smiled a little bit.

“I was thinking.”

“Hmm.” Markus tilted his head. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

She scoffed. “I was going to give you a compliment.”

“…First time for everything?”

“Markus.” Rhea pushed at his shoulder. “I just wanted to tell you. I really liked what you said, during that – first meeting with Lan.”

“Gods.” He slipped his muzzle into his paw. “I suppose I should apologize for that, yes?”

“What? No. No need. I thought it was-”

“To your father.”

“Has he said anything to you?”

“No.” The foxwolf straightened up a bit. “But I’m expecting him to. I just short of said, then and there, no, I don’t want to marry your daughter.”

“But it’s the truth. Nobody can fault you for that.”

“Have you told him, then?”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

Markus watched her for a moment. She halfway leaned toward him, one paw resting across her lap, the other fiddling with the quill pen that still dripped thick ink onto the paper. Her ear twitched with each near-silent drop, though it seemed the wolfess did not consciously notice.

Then he sat back again, and rubbed a paw across his muzzle. “Yes. I know. You’re right.”

“Besides…” Rhea looked to her sheet, cursed beneath her breath, reached for the sponge. “Kole Lan is-” She glanced up at the door. “An ass.”

“I… did pick that up.”

“He means well, but he doesn’t know how to properly handle it. And in some cases, that might just as well be deliberate malice. You saw how he completely ignored me at the meeting?

“I did.”

“And the way he speaks to us when he’s come in here? And, gods, how he treats the servants?”

And how he spoke to me on the road outside the walls…

“Father’s known him nearly all his life, and half the reason he makes these regular visits is since we get Three Kings cheaper here than he does down in Burls. Reminds them of how they met.”

“How did they-”

Rhea flipped the page. “Kaylor gladiator arena… he was his sponsor.”

“The – what – who was whose-”

She waved a paw. “That’s not important. Father’s an ass, too. You can say it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Then you’re deluding yourself.”

“What makes you say that?” Markus paused again in his own work. Rhea had bent back over hers, one paw running the columns of numbers and notes, the other adding up the sums on the other side, drawing lines of connection, dipping into the inkwell with a practiced touch. Her tail remained pinned around her body; her ears had angled back; she focused on the paper with an intensity that likely dried the ink as soon as she peered upon it. “All the times we’ve spoken, which have been admittedly few, he’s seemed… well, fine. Just like any other noble.”

“That’s the problem. I expected you’d be able to see that. All he cares about is… position, and title, and retaining the power that your mother gave to him.”

“Well, isn’t that-” But then Markus froze, remembering what Lan had told him while the foxwolf had been scrabbling to get up from the ground. I like the wealth and the power, Markus had been about to say, but I just don’t want the responsibility. He plunked his pen into the holder.

Rhea rested her head in her free paw, still scratching away at the figures with the other. “And then all my life, ever since he was named as Viscount, he’s been bringing me up to be – nothing more than an extension of himself.” She thumped the ledger with the back of her paw, splattering ink across the table. “These classes, the tutoring… having me sit in the grand hall to receive the townsfolk and settle the problems that they think they can’t handle themselves. I already run the correspondence between here and Kaylor. This coming winter, I’m to attend a conference overseen by the King of Alenar himself. And then… I travel out to Oryon for my engagement ball, and you’re barely there, and you smell of another male, and at a glance I can tell you’re as uninterested in the union as I am, but then you show up here barely a month later, and you…”

She looked at him – and Markus looked back. I wonder what she sees? he thought, scooting sideways in his chair to face her more fully. Long hours spent investigating himself in the mirror had fully acquainted the foxwolf with the little idiosyncrasies of his mixed species: muzzle said fox, ears said wolf, mane-like ruff about his neck and shoulders said wolf, ink-splotch marks on his snout said fox.

That servant, either the white fox or Doren – Markus’s heart skipped a beat; he had not even thought about the cheetah since that night – had assumed from his more delicate vulpine features that he was Doriani. That makes sense. The only reason to know of House Oryon is by growing up in the region, or remaining keyed in to Maldethi politics three decades past. Others look at me, and they hear I am a Kalla, and they see a Kalla.

And that is all they ever expect of me.

“You’re insufferable.”

Markus blinked, his heart skipping another beat. “What?”

But when he looked over at Rhea he saw instead a warm smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She tilted her head, chest swelling out in a slow inhalation, and then sighed.

“But you don’t care about any of that,” she went on. “Markus – you outrank me. You outrank my father. Have you noticed that he tries to always refer to you as your lordship? You’ve not even been here two weeks, and I’m seeing the way that you think of yourself and those around you… on title alone, you have full capability to have me imprisoned for calling you that, just now.”

He couldn’t help but bristle a little bit. “A very Kalla thing to do.”

Rhea shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say it. My father is stuck in his ways… and I am, too, I’ve come to realize. We spoke about it already – I don’t want to go through with the marriage, though I feel I must. But then you are here because you desire a change in yourself. Right? I don’t know why else you would come.”

Is that really it? All this time I’ve been trying to figure it out, and she’s put it together just like that? The foxwolf looked down at his forgotten assignment, tapped his claws across the paper, thought for a moment.

He turned his head without looking at her. “Could I… tell you something?”

“If it’s not about your slowly blossoming feelings for me, I don’t want to hear it.”

Again he froze – but then detected the little bounce to her shoulders, the deliberate positioning of her ears, the way her short whiskers pinned forward. She peered at him across her muzzle, stifled a smirk, turned the page again. It touched her scent as well, a little bit of warm amusement simmering through what had previously been annoyance, and frustration, and hopelessness… and now a slow, cool curiosity cut through underneath as well, mixed with just a touch of concern.

Markus sighed again. “It’s about… the… who I was, ah… with. The night of our engagement.”

“Your mustelid.”

“Otter. Yes.”

“Otter in Mora. That narrows it down as much as a wolf in Alenar.” She tapped the table with a finger, then visibly perked. “Oh! It was that… fellow from Ryalon, wasn’t it? No – Rowan. I can’t believe I forgot. He was Lord… it was some house I hadn’t heard of.”

Because it was false. Markus cleared his throat. “Well, that’s the… the issue. House Strade doesn’t exist. He lied about that.”

Rhea paused in dipping her quill again. “Did he, now.”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“My mother had Aurelia – our mistress of the house, her secretary, and I think her lover – do some digging, and looked into it herself. You… know that my father was a Spirit mage, right?”

“Oh, everyone does. Well, everyone who knows that they live in a unified republic.” She crossed something out on the paper to replace it with another note, paused, crossed that out, tried again. “There are villages up north that haven’t even heard we have a king. Never heard of the capital, think that magic is little more than a bedtime story for pups. That kind of thing. And in Loria, east near the forests, there’s rumors of werewolves…”

“Yes. Well – apparently some of that can… ‘rub off’, I suppose, on someone if they spend enough time in close contact with a mage?”

“Nothing I ever heard of.”

“Neither had my brother. And if there’s a thing to be known, Mercutio likely knows it. But Mother said that’s the case, and said that… what was it… while she can’t use magic herself – not really – she can still pick up on it.”

“Makes sense. I mentioned I have some moderate skill, right?” and Rhea glanced at him. “In Water magic, specifically? And in Fire, but less so. It lends to the healing. I’m well familiar with the basics and concepts, and learned even before my talent emerged. Father thought it prudent, what with the legalization.”

“Mhmm. And, ah…” Markus fiddled with his quill, running his fingers back and forth over it, tapping at the end, pressing it against a claw. He sighed again, trying to steady his heart. “It’s… regal signet rings. Bearing the royal House’s crest of arms, and colors in the stones, and all of that? You know how they’re imbued with Spirit magic during their casting?”

The wolfess’s ears flicked back. She looked up from her work and then glanced over at him again. “Are they? I had no idea. Perhaps that’s privileged knowledge.” Elbow on the table, she rested her chin on the back of her paw. “Markus Lucius vai Solm va Maldeth.”

She was poking fun at him: that was the naming convention for royalty of a Maldethi family. He had confused the two as a pup. Markus waved his paw, realized that now his fingerpads bore the thick slickness of the ink, and tried to wipe it off along the chair.

“Well,” he went on, now hiding that paw, “they are, allegedly. And having spent so much time with my father, married to him, bonded to him – magically, I mean – she took on some of that perception. So she can… sense the magic, I suppose. And…” Here it is. “Lura – Lord Strade – wears a ring on his neck…”

“And it’s one of those?”

He nodded. “The royal signet of House Calador was never found, following the family’s execution…”

And that was that. The foxwolf leaned forward over the table, paws entwined, brushy tail curled around the leg of his chair. He had no idea what to expect from Rhea, how she might receive this information or interpret it, or how it might shine on him for keeping it secret.

But she said nothing. Heart thumping, Markus looked over, and met her eyes. She still had her chin on her paw.

The wolfess blinked. “…And? Is that all?”

“I – he – and? He’s the Crown Prince of Mora. He has the ring.”

She just shrugged. “No, he’s not. The Citizens’ Council stripped House Calador of all power, title, and influence once it was deemed enough time had passed for any residual heir to try to reclaim the throne. What little of the House’s treasury remained – King Romi was as bad as they come – was disbursed among the city and its people, and I understand many influential Morai houses still demand reparations for owed debts and the like. Calador is essentially, effectively, and legally defunct.” Once again she dropped the pen into the inkwell, then reached over for the finishing sand. The thin grains glittered in the light from the window over their shoulders.

“And he lied about it, and-”

“No, he didn’t. Remember what I said about Lan?”

“How he’s an ass?”

“How he means well. The wolf is brilliant, and plays the market game like nobody else we’ve done business with, but even with that he lacks… perspective on certain matters. He doesn’t understand, because he simply can’t. And I’m not saying that I have that perspective here, Markus.”

Rhea reached sideways under the table, grasped Markus’s paw, squeezed it… ignored the squelch of still-wet ink now staining her fur as well.

“House Calador no longer exists,” she went on. “The ring is nothing more than a relic at this point, a magical curiosity. It’s good that it hasn’t fallen into the wrong hands, but dangerous that he has it. There are people out there that want to find and kill him.”

“He did say-”

“And besides,” tightening her grip on his paw, “what was that you said just the other day about making a name for yourself? Markus Kalla – surely we should expect you to be just like your father, right? Just like King Lucius?”

“Rhea-”

“With everything that encompasses, right? Gods forbid if sometimes you want to be just Markus. Right? Because you are beholden to your House, and your heritage defines who you are. Not you, but your family. That is why your mother expects you to marry the daughter of a Viscount and excel in an administrative position. House Thorn has always worked behind the scenes, quiet but steady. That is why my father expects me to keep things in order, while you do all the things expected of a Count, because you are a Kalla.”

“Would you-”

Still she squeezed tighter, her ears flattening back, her lip curling up a bit. There were those sharp fangs, the pink gums, the tongue folded and dancing with her words. “I don’t want to be Countess. I don’t want to marry you. But I have to. But him? Your – Strade?”

“Well – Miska Calador, I think, but he – Lura-”

“Lura Strade. He doesn’t have to be Prince of Mora. In fact, it’s best that he isn’t. So give him that, Markus. It is a life, a name, a title that is not his, and that he does not want.” Finally she released his paw, and reached up to wipe at the corner of her eye. Black ink smeared across stone-grey fur. “Miska Calador may have once existed, but he does not anymore. I… quite enjoyed his voice, and his scent on you, and… the way he looked at you when you two spoke. And I’m jealous.”

Markus frowned, trying to avoid looking at the streak. “Jealous?”

“Of him. Of you. Both of you. Him, to be free in who he is, and you, for having the courage that I lack, in trying to defy what is passed down to you… is that why you’re here? He told you this-”

“Well, I-”

“-or you found out, and then you threw a tantrum and left?”

He bit his lip. “It wasn’t a tantrum.”

“I think you threw a tantrum in the meeting hall when Lan compared you to your father.”

“That definitely wasn’t a tantrum. I was correcting him on something that – on which he lacked the proper perspective.” Rhea was leaning in closer, bit by bit, her scent wafting across him. Where previously had burned white-hot rage and indignation, now instead simmered a warm, lingering annoyance which he could tell she deliberately worked at tamping down. “It’s just – I’m tired of people comparing me to my father.”

“I know you are.”

“So then why would you-”

“I mean. Lura doesn’t want to be a Calador. And you don’t want to be a Kalla. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

His mouth dropped open. It can’t be that simple…

“I just…” Then Rhea leaned back and sighed, again brushing her paw across the side of her muzzle. A splotch took shape along the ruffle of fur by her cheek. “I’m sorry, Markus. I’ve just been thinking about the whole thing a lot more since you came here, since that makes it… a lot more real, more imminent. And I’m frightened. I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared to push back against Father, and then… you’re loud, and aggressive, and – I mean this kindly – you just don’t know any better, and-”

“Rhea. You have ink on your face.”

“What?” The wolfess blinked, her mouth open. She glanced to the side as if expecting to see it, then turned her head the other way. “Here?”

“Other side.”

“Did I – oh, no, you weren’t-”

“Sorry.” He unfolded his paws, showing the streaks and smears across normally pinkish fingerpads. The ink had spread to his other fingers by now. “I was.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you were…” His ears flicked. “Preoccupied. You’re fierce when you’re yelling.”

“I wasn’t yelling. Would you-” She reached up, tried to rub at one of the spots, looked to Markus for guidance. He motioned to the side a bit; she went the other way.

“You weren’t?”

“No! You’d know it when I’m really mad.”

“That wasn’t mad?”

“No. It was…” She huffed. “Frustrated. I understand you have that effect on people, Markus. Did I – get it now-?”

“No, you – gods, here, just let me…”

Markus leaned in again and, before he could stop himself, slipped his thumb into his mouth – the half-dried ink tasted high and sour and bitter, and likely stained his tongue as well – then pressed that right beneath the wolfess’s eyes, where the other streak had worked through the fur. Rhea half-closed that eye but kept it focused on him, sleek metal blue sharp and cool.

His other paw found her shoulder to hold her in place, the wolfess’s muzzle alongside his own, her short whiskers tickling at his so that they flicked and twitched again and again. He could feel her breath puffing across him, soft and warm; Markus held his tongue between his teeth as he worked, rubbing his thumb into her soft, thick fur, watching the way it pressed down and then slowly rebounded, and how the ink seemed to just sink deeper in with the addition of the wetness.

Sleek lupine lips pulled up and back a little bit; he felt the muscles tense and shift beneath his thumb. Markus’s other paw drifted up across the wolfess’s neck to her chin, tilting her head just slightly in the other direction. Her ears flicked, and her lips twitched again – and Markus jumped when an airy laugh puffed out from her nose.

Her tongue flicked out. “You look stupid like that.”

“Yeah?” He brought his back into his mouth. “Well, just think what you look like.”

“Didn’t you get ink on that paw?”

“Oh, it’s on both paws. It’s not making it worse.”

“Is it making it better?”

“What do you mean by better?”

Ringing her eyes, the very edges of her eyelids, was sleek black skin, silken-soft and wet. Like her lips, Markus thought, and bit his own again; every time Rhea spoke her upper lip curled up and wrinkled in the middle just a little bit, as though she were right on the edge of a snarl. This close he could pick up the light, floral touch of the tea one of the servants had brought her, now sitting forgotten at the edge of the table.

Hibiscus, she had said, mixed with bayshoot from – of course – Oryon. Even had she not told him, he would have known: his brother enjoyed hibiscus, though for Markus the flavor punched far too sharply through everything else for his preference, and then the rest was of course obvious. He swallowed again, let his other paw come up the other side of her muzzle – Rhea blinked and glanced over, bemusement flashing across her muzzle at the similarly ink-stained fingerpads – and he tilted her a little further.

“Lick it.”

Again he blinked, and froze with his thumb halfway to his mouth. “What? That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“I mean the ink.”

“On your face? Are you – is this a joke?”

Her paw grasped his wrist and pulled it away, and the wolfess angled her head down so that she could peer at him face to face. Lips tight, brows up, ears forward; “Do I look like I’m joking?”

But the amusement had returned to her scent, soft and warm, paired with something a little bit… different. Alarming, in the way that it made his heart flutter and tail swish. Markus frowned, tilted his head, and tried to pick it apart, but Rhea squeezed his wrist and turned her head again.

“Where is it? Here?”

He really had made it worse. “Um.”

“Well? I won’t tell Father if you won’t.”

“I… if you insist-”

“It’s either this or go out into the halls with ink smeared all over my fur. You wouldn’t want that for me, would you?”

“Fine! Fine. Just – hold still. Sorry, I’m… gonna…”

The wolfess’s cool, sweet scent wrapped around him; he couldn’t help but breathe in as he came closer, nose tickling with the familiar aroma. Today there was more wolf than the soap they shared, the sharp, rocky sting of wild animal cutting through. Paired with that extra spice underneath, growing the closer he came, Markus couldn’t help but close his eyes and take in a breath.

It made him a little bit dizzy…

His other paw came up along the other side of Rhea’s muzzle. She leaned into it, turning her head so that the smeared side more fully faced him. Warm fur pushed between his fingers, and he felt the gentle twitch of the muscles in her cheek as she set her jaw; he closed his eyes, swallowed, then folded his tongue out… and again tasted the sharp, acrid sting of ink, a sourness that permeated out into the back of his mouth.

To his surprise Rhea shivered against him, her ears flattening back for a moment, her whiskers tickling at his cheek. He pushed his tongue through the fur, dragging up and out, then did so again, and again. His paw fell from hers, then came up to her shoulder; the other held her muzzle still, keeping her in place, careful not to poke at her eye with his fingers

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought. Weren’t we just arguing? But at the same time-

“Markus-”

“What?” He jerked back. “Was that too much? I’m sorry, I-”

“No. Idiot.” Mouth quirked up towards the tickling remnant of saliva, Rhea huffed softly. As Markus’s paw fell from her muzzle she caught it, turned the palm upright, ran her thumbs across the ink-smeared pads. “It’s archival ink.”

He frowned. That was the kind that Mercutio used in the library back in Oryon. “Is that bad?”

“No.” The wolfess smirked, muzzle angled slightly away but eyes on him. “That means that nothing short of thorough scrubbing with high quality soap will get it out.”

“But – you-”

“Gods. You really do have a lot to learn, don’t you?”

Rhea reached up, touched at the spot he had licked, then rubbed her fingers together. Then she leaned in a little bit closer, her lips pursed forward, her eyes halfway closed. Her scent spiked; Markus felt his tail swish again, and his knee bumped against hers, and his heart skipped a beat. She licked her lips, swallowed, tilted her head.

“If you wanted to kiss me,” she purred, “you could have just asked.”

For a moment the foxwolf felt frozen, one paw clasped gently in hers, the other hovering above her thigh. He realized that he had come close enough that his body had had to turn, one of his legs alongside hers, the other out at an angle.

I don’t… The thoughts rumbled along like boulders down a hill. Wait. Do I? I can’t – she… Then his paw was on its way up, brushing through her fingers, coming to touch – caress – the side of her muzzle; again the wolfess turned and nuzzled into it, warm breath tickling across his wrist. She turned her gaze on him again, then once more licked her lips, and he saw the fangs, the gums, the curl of the tongue, close enough that he could feel the humid heat emanating.

“I thought-” He forced himself to look at the ink spot. “I thought I was insufferable.”

One of her ears flicked. “You are. But so am I, a little bit.”

“A little?”

“Hmm. I’m thinking I might have to rescind my invitation, then.” Rhea scoffed again.

“Oh! So you want to, then?”

“I literally had you lick my face. Was I not obvious enough?”

“Well, it’s just I-”

“Markus.” She squeezed his wrist. “Kiss me or don’t, but don’t make me feel like a fool for asking.”

And for some reason that sent a cold spear lancing through his heart. The foxwolf’s jaw dropped; his ears splayed back; he felt his tail slow; and he focused in on the pounding of his heart, the strange, foggy tangle of half-formed thoughts trying to take shape in the back of his head, the way that he could feel her warmth, could smell her scent, could still taste the ink and a little bit of her along his tongue. He wet his lips, swallowed, did so again, then leaned in, let his eyes drift shut…

…and still jumped when she returned the movement, and brushed her lips across his. There was another little exhalation of breath, sighing out across his upper lip; he felt her twitch, and tighten, then relax against him, and then she pursed forward – and he did too, and the two met and locked here. Soft, sweet warmth, gentle tingling heat; his paw trembled in her grasp, his tail swung and brushed across the floor, and he leaned forward against the wolfess.

The kiss held there and then shuddered apart, and then resumed again. Markus tilted his head to the side as Rhea did the same. His paw turned, found hers, and intertwined; she straightened up, squared her shoulders, leaned in against him a little bit more, and brought her other paw to slide slowly up his leg. Markus swallowed amid the kiss, drew his lips back to pull in a slow breath, tilted his head further; Rhea shivered against him, swallowed as well, shifted a little bit – and then her paw leapt from the foxwolf’s leg to clasp the side of his muzzle.

He reached up as well and felt her arm, her thick, plush Alenari pelt, the lines of taut muscle beneath… the slightly unsteady beat of her pulse beneath his fingers. Markus followed up to her shoulder and then around to her back, and then both of his arms were around her, and she had lifted up out of her chair and leaned in over him from above, both paws grasping his muzzle, one thumb hooking beneath the rim of his lip along his snout. Her tongue lashed out, circled along his gums, pressed its way in – and Markus met and drew it in further, a low, breathy moan escaping his maw into hers.

Rhea swallowed again, and he felt it. He flicked his tongue up along hers, pushed against the resistance of the broad, flat muscle, swirled around, coaxed her further – reciprocated the intrusion, pushing up into her mouth, feeling those fangs, drawing in the wet heat of her presence, and her eagerness. She drew back a little bit but kept her upper lip pinned against his, mouth open, breath coming and going in short, huffing gasps; Markus lifted up, pecked at her lips again, and again, and again, then nipped the lower between his teeth, tugged, suckled softly, released.

The wolfess’s arms dropped to drape around his shoulders, and Markus’s slid down her body. She arched her back, let a rumbling sigh drift across his muzzle, lifted her tail a little bit; he played his fingers at the base there where it met the rest of her body, feeling at the little divots in the skin and where the firm line of her spine underneath spread out.

“Is that…” She swallowed again, then paused to catch her breath. “How you kiss your otter?

“Something like that, yes.” He squirmed, her scent rich in her nose, now spiked with the heat of undeniable arousal as well. Vaguely he recalled his dream in the carriage, still on his mind after nearly a full month. “Is that how you kiss your lions?”

“It’s how I kiss Osa. Sorrel’s a little more aggressive. Lions just do it differently, I suppose.”

“I’d… like to see that.”

“I bet you would.” Rhea glanced around, then scooted back from where she had halfway climbed into his lap and into her own seat. She cleared her throat, surreptitiously touched the back of her wrist to her mouth, and sighed softly, trying to steady her breathing.

“Are they – would they be – okay with…”

“What, this? Us?” Rhea turned back to her ledger, looked through the pages, dabbed a finger at the now dried ink, and then closed the book. “You mean the arranged engagement endorsed by the Viscount of Leyo and the Countess of Oryon, for which we held a ball, to which were invited many of the most influential heads of Houses in the immediate region?”

“Come on. That’s not fair.”

“I serve in the Chapel on weekend evenings.” Rhea pushed her chair back as she stood, ledger clutched beneath her arm. “I could bring you with me sometime, and you can meet them yourself.”

Markus looked up after her. He did not yet trust himself with standing up; his heart still felt as though it wanted to burst from his chest. “I would… I’d like that.”

“What about your otter? It was… Lura?”

The question he had dreaded. Markus scratched at a spot on the back of his neck. “I should… speak with him.”

“Father’s secretary can get a message down to Rowan in a day’s time, weather permitting.”

“Oh, he’s… in Oryon. Um. Last I heard.”

“Oryon?” The wolfess frowned. She offered an ink-stained paw down; Markus took it, rose, and was glad to find out that his legs were not shaking. His pants were a little tight, though. “What’s he doing there?”

“We… it’s a long story. We were… not exactly on the best of terms when I-”

“Threw your tantrum and ran away?”

But when he looked at her, there was no mockery on her muzzle. Just ink. Unconsciously, Markus flicked his tongue out across his lips, tasted the same ink… and a little bit of Rhea there, too. His heart fluttered again.

“How long have I been here? Three weeks?”

“About.”

He leaned over to swipe up his materials, too. His tail wrapped around his leg. “I should… write home.”

Rhea’s paw brushed against his back, then squeezed his shoulder. “You should.”

“You don’t think it’s too late, do you?”

“To make up?”

“Yes. I was… I guess I just didn’t understand.”

“You absolutely did not. Hopefully he could see that in you.” Rhea squeezed his paw as she passed by, then went to open the door at the other side of the room. “Don’t need me to tell you that Oryon’s much closer than Rowan. If the response is fast, we can get it there and back by… sunset tonight, probably.”

“Gods. How?”

“Give it another month or two,” said with a wink, “and another few kisses like that, and I might just tell you. But – we should get these back to Lan, so that he can tell us everything we did wrong, in the most condescending way you’ve ever heard…”

~ ~ ~

Attn.: Her Grace The Right Honorable Countess Azura Kalla of Oryon

From: her son, Markus Kalla ef Solm Maldeth

You will be pleased – and likely vindicated – to learn that I am being taught just how many mistakes I am apt to make. I assume Lord Thorn is keeping you updated on my progress, so I shall omit all of that.

It is my hope that ‘Elijah’ is still in the House’s employ. I have enclosed a second letter for his eyes only, and am signing my personal wish to fund transportation to receive him here in Leyo, along with an extra stipend in case he wishes to purchase anything in the markets. They truly are lovely. If he is not, please respond as such, and burn the enclosed letter.

~

Attn.: Lord Lura Strade of Rowan

From: Markus

I have a great many apologies for you, not the least of which is for not writing sooner. I will understand if you wish nothing more to do with me, however. I have informed my mother that I wish for you to be transported here to see me, so that I might give these apologies in person.

When you arrive, pay the porter and wait for the carriage to begin its return before approaching the manor. Follow the path to the back, and then keep on going. There is a hidden tunnel behind a wall of vines that leads to a back corner of the wine cellar…