Kris couldn’t resist the temptation to run a hand along Harry’s ankle, enjoying the feel of the leather against his skin. “What changes aren’t acceptable?” he coaxed.
Henry tensed along the touch, watching his hand cautiously. “I know not of what would be acceptable to my father. He is King of England; he knows wiser.” He said calmly, disregarding it from his mind, looking upward for a moment.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Kris murmured, wrapping his fingers around the inside of Harry’s ankle. “Forget him. You’re young and heedless, you do what you want. What do you want?”