The next day, while Dael was hauling jars of water into the kitchen, he spotted Flavia on the veranda again. He knew from the glow of her skin and her tousled hair she’d been out practicing with her sword. She was leaning on the railing and gazing out at the garden, eyes distant.
He paused beside her a respectful distance away. “My lady.”
She slewed him a sideways glance.
He corrected himself. “Flavia.”
She half-smiled. “Dael.”
“I hope practice was well,” he said.
Her smile brightened. “It was very well. Perhaps,” she said, “after the banquet, you'll join me.”
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