Biffy said, off the cuff, "Or we could find a replacement queen." "Volunteering for the position?" "Why, Professor, is that wittiness I detect?" "Only for you." "Charmer." Biffy tapped him on the arm playfully.

His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.

She was no closer to determining who might want her dead. There were just too many possibilities.

A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.

These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.

She sifted, sighed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about anything but Lord Maccoon, her current predicament, or Lord Akeldama's safety. Which meant she could do nothing but reflect on the complex plight of her mama's more recent embroidery project. Thins, in itself, was a worse torture than any her captors could devise.

The ill-informed masses included her own family among their ranks, a family that specialized in being both inconvenient and asinine.