Cedric stirred the soup slowly, though it was already mixed well enough.
"You know…" he began, his voice casual in the way a thief pretends to stroll past the guards, "in my time as a squire, I've heard many tales of married folk and… how they pass the hours."
Zara arched one pale brow, sipping the broth without looking away from him.
"There's the lord who will not keep his hands from his lady, even at the supper table," Cedric continued, eyes fixed on the bowl. "Or the merchant who takes his mistress riding only so he may pull her into the woods halfway through." He risked a glance at her. "And… well, some speak of the sounds that carry through walls."
The corner of Zara's mouth quirked, whether in amusement or warning, he could not tell.
