Latina moved.
From the grass. She reached behind her— to the pile of clothes, the scattered items, the debris of a life that had been interrupted by sex and healing and revelation. Her hand found something. A scroll. Small. Rolled. Tied with a black ribbon. She pulled it out. She held it.
She tossed it.
The scroll arced through the air. Raven caught it. One hand. Without looking. His black eyes stayed on the princess.
He held the scroll out.
"So," he said. His voice was quiet. Conversational. The voice of a man who is about to offer something that cannot be refused. "You need to sign on that."
The princess trembled.
"What?" she whispered. Her green eyes went from his face to the scroll. The black ribbon. The mana seal— a blue glow, faint, pulsing, the sign of a binding document. A mana contract. The kind that could not be broken. The kind that bound the signer in magic and in law.
