A pageboy darted up, snatching the torch from the door and beckoning. “Cook says, dinner’s ready so you better come,” he piped, seemingly unconcerned about the informal nature of his words.
Summer looked up at Isaac, eyes dancing. “Father may rule the princedom, but Cook rules the castle. If we are late, dinner will be cold and there will be no recourse.”
Isaac gaped down at the pageboy, a little bewildered at his tone and wording, but seeing as Summer appeared to be fine with it, he immediately dismissed it and nodded. “Alright…”
And he slipped his hand into Summer’s then, pressing a kiss to the very tip of her nose, chuckling lowly. “Oh? Well, lead the way then, My Lady!”
She tangled her fingers with his, tugging him along the dim hallways. One thing that had happened in her melancholy was a considerable amount of wandering, and she was quite familiar with the whole castle. Rounding a corner, she pulled open a door behind a tapestry, and there was her tower room. A table with two chairs was set up before the fire, complete with cozy blankets and candles.