Summer picked up a stick and twisted it in her hands. “What is the worth of swearing fealty to a prince if you cannot rely on him for protection when you need it?” Tossing the stick at him, she picked through her bundle until she found her comb. “Take me to your liege lord, and let us see what he may say.” She parted her hair neatly to either side of her head, the heavy coils gleaming in her lap in the firelight, and began to pull the comb through.
“I’ll always protect you, Miss Summer, even if you refuse to let me do so,” Sir Isaac began, before becoming completely captivated by the sunset playing about in her fiery hair, his eyes darkening just a little as he watched her. Then, his cheeks coloured and he shook his head, making a show of dusting down the crumbs that had gathered on his lap, unaware that he had been silent for far too long. “Very well. We’ll set off in the morning.”
“I thought we had agreed you would not be so formal with me,” she murmured, carefully smoothing a particularly stubborn knot. She looked up at him, and stilled at the look on his face. It made the breath catch in her throat. “Wh-why do you look at me so?”