By all accounts, the mercenary captain took the insult with remarkably good grace. He simply leaned back in his heavy oak chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
"Unfortunately, Ser," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the morning's weather, "that arrangement is quite impossible. The princess is already betrothed."
Sir Marwoit's brow shot up, his courtly composure fracturing for a fraction of a second. "Betrothed?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly before he caught it. "My apologies, I had no knowledge of any such pact. Still," the knight continued, smoothing his tunic and regaining his footing, "I believe Lord Sorza would make a far more fitting match for her Grace, better than any ordinary lordling serving your court, I'd wager."
Alpheo chuckled, "Ah, but you're looking at the lucky man right now." He gestured casually toward his own breastplate.
