"Is the pain worse?" Margot asked, mistaking Calypso's scowl for physical discomfort.
"No, I'm just dreading tomorrow's lunch. Duke Haverford is fifty if he's a day, and his breath smells like pickled herring if Selene is right."
Margot laughed softly. "He's only thirty-five, and I've heard he's quite handsome."
"Handsome or hideous, I'm not interested." Calypso turned from the window. "How much longer can we reasonably delay without causing political problems?"
"Not much longer. Your uncle is losing patience. The alliance with House Haverford would secure additional guards for the southern passes."
Calypso flopped dramatically onto her bed, spreading her arms wide. "Politics. Even in a narrative gate, I can't escape them."
Margot settled beside her, tucking her legs beneath her. "Remembering this is just our rendition of a story is... disturbing."
