chamomile, rose water, and other unlikely intoxicants (5/?)
Company awaits you. You sort of expected it would: Jake has a small chest under one arm and a wry look on his face.
“Blessed Candlenights to you, sire,” he says, voice low as the firelight outside. “Your nose and ears have gone red as holly berries, if I may say so.”
You swallow about the tight feeling in your throat. “For tonight, I’d… bid you to speak as freely as you like.”
“A rare gift in the crown’s presence,” Jake remarks, lips upturned. “And I’m so inclined to hold my tongue, aren’t I?”
