Playfully, she curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir. I am but a poor maid here in the capital.” Placing both hands on the table, she leaned over its scant width. “Mordred.”
Mordred shook his head, placing his goblet down on the table. “Summer,” he says, cocking a brow at her.
“Oh, don’t do that, it makes me forget what I want to say! Do you have any idea what you look like!?” She hung her head for a moment. “Mordred, I want — I want a real answer. What do you want of me, since you accepted my ring? I offered it as a joke; I never thought … ” She flourished a hand. “This would happen.” She turned faintly pink. “I liked kissing you,” she added, very low.