She padded toward Han, barefoot, like a faerie startled out of a forest bower, bewitching mix of clan and flatland beauty.

They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.

Just a rat, she repeated to herself. After all, there were rats in the palace. Human and otherwise. Could be worse.

One more thing: Linda, can you get to Canterbury and take over my Chaucerian Society? They're at Dovecote Hostelry in the old city. We're visiting all the scenes of the great murders. Tomorrow they want to see where Becket was killed. They're a bloodthirsty lot, it seems.

He expects nothing, she thought, because he's never had anything. And nothing was expected of him. He was free in a way she never would be.

You look like a boy who has eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge and doesn't like the taste.

My tagline is ‘Less sex, more romance, lower body count.’