Monday: Robert knew
exactly how many more heartbeats he had to savor the farewell in her lips
before he need send her away to avoid discovery—and he meant to relish every
one.
Tuesday: “Lord
Cold-as-a-Fish, sneering down his nose at us these twelve years, making us
grovel for his favor, crushing anyone whose glance offended him, Lord
Lick-My-Boots-or-I’ll-Kick-Your-Ribs was finally disconcerted.”
Wednesday: Men who
failed to consciously register his music often sensed the change when it
ceased, though seemingly with little awareness of exactly what had altered in
their surroundings.
Thursday: Robert had
kept his head down when Kit Beckford walked past him, but some devilish daring
in him had held Strode’s gaze steady.
Friday: The light of
a torch set up on a bracket near the sentry point sent a ripple of fire down
the threatening blade and lapped across the muddied face of a dazed and
frightened young man.
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