The Blackthorn team strolled down the cobbled streets of the market square of Nettlehusk. Pip clanked along cheerfully, his chassis shining from his most recent buff-and-oil session.
Penelo and Lula were flanking him like personal security guards, if security guards were constantly giggling, swatting away admirers, and carrying shopping bags stacked as high as their heads.
"No, sorry! The Pleasure Prince fully booked!" Penelo called out for the third time in five minutes as a red-faced shopkeeper tried to shove a bag of gold into Pip's hands.
"We'll pass your... marriage proposal to him later," Lula added to a blushing noblewoman who promptly fainted.
"Mother's milk," Veena muttered, tugging on her satchel strap, "you'd think we were traveling with a demigod."
"We kind of are," Sera replied with a shrug, her eyes scanning a nearby stall selling enchanted boot polish. "The pleasure kind. Which, let's be honest, is the best kind."
