“She’s a serf, Master Isaac,” Rafael said stubbornly. “You’re a knight, my lord, and adopted brother to the prince. You should marry the princess, not throw yourself away on some fool idea of love for a serf. She’s got ideas above her station already, wearin’ the princess’ cast off dresses and sittin’ at the high table like she thinks she belongs there.”
“I don’t care about class! I hardly come from royalty myself, do I?” He glared at Rafael with as menacing a glare as he could muster up. Scoffing incredulously then, he took a step back, fingers curling into loose fists as he tried to control his breathing and calm his temper. “You have no rights to say such things about her — I love her, and what if I should marry her? Would you still hold these ridiculous opinions of yours?”
“A man can think what ‘e likes,” Rafael growled back. “And ye asked me.” His careful diction was slipping in the heat of his anger. “Ye’ve a duty to yer prince, and to yer people, to bring home a lady. Yer a noble, ye’ve allus been a noble. Ye should never hev brought her ‘ere, she don’t belong ‘ere, she don’t know what to do, she ain’t a lady.”