His massive, scarred hands, hands that had snapped the necks of trolls, gently offered her a tiny, woven basket filled with wild, perfectly ripe blackberries he had foraged from a thorny thicket, completely ignoring the scratches on his own forearms.
Even Sir Lucas, the stern and terrifying veteran commander, had tried to contribute.
He had proudly presented her with a beautifully balanced, wickedly sharp throwing knife, claiming it was "essential for a lady's foundational defense."
Duke Kaelus had immediately confiscated it, threatening to demote Lucas to latrine duty, but Seraphina had hugged the scarred knight's armored leg anyway, thanking him for the thought.
She was drowning in affection.
She had a mountain of toys, an endless supply of sweets, and a dozen heavily armed uncles who would gladly march into the Abyss to fetch her a glass of water.
But as wonderful as the knights were, it was the Duke who occupied the center of her world.
