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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
Summer glances from one to the other. “Whatever you tell me, I will probably tell her later, Mordred, so you might as well say it out now. There are no secrets between me and my twin.”
Winter laughs once, high and sharp and mocking. “Not now, any road.”
Summer blushes.
The knight runs his tongue over his bottom lip, shifting in his seat. “It concerns your brother,” he tells hers, unsure whether or not he should continue. ”I just returned from interrogation with him and he —” he trails off, “he intends to marry you off.”
“There’s no surprise there. Edward has always pushed for that.” Summer glances at Winter, then away. “He’s always been angry at me for that I’m not more like Winter that way.”
“And I give him the edge of my tongue when he so does,” Winter reassures her twin. “But why would he say so now? Can he not see — no, of course,” she cuts herself off, “our braud has ever accounted love to be the least worthy of all emotions. Only by sheerest luck am I let to love my lord Mihangel.” Winter’s face turns stormy.
“Well,” Summer says. “I did warn you, Mordred. I don’t understand why it concerns you so. It’s not as though there’s anyone who will have my hand in marriage anyway, so it doesn’t matter what Edward wants.”