Laurence studied Mordred for a moment. “What do you want?”
”Personally, I just want her,” he tells him, “I think it’s a bit early to think of betrothal but it’s a possibility.”
“You may be right, though she is full old for it.” Summer’s father fell silent for a moment. “Tell her. As often as you may do, tell her so, and show her so — she won’t believe you otherwise. Magic or not, my daughter judges herself harshly, and compares herself to others.” He folded his hands behind his back again. “You know she is not my daughter of my blood. She calls me father of her own will, and I try to be so to her. Ward perhaps is a better word for our standing.”