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.