Evangeline stood over him, her dark silk gown sweeping the floor as she looked down at him with the cold, absolute authority of a monarch.
"Know your place, jester."
Wincing slightly, though his movements remained fluid and mocking, Silver pulled himself up from the cold stone floor. He took his time smoothing out the wrinkles of his stolen royal attire, adjusting the velvet collar with an unbothered grace that openly defied the pain radiating from his ribs. He moved back toward the chaise lounge, sinking onto the velvet cushion beside her once more as if he hadn't just been slammed against a wall.
"So, My Queen," he murmured, his amber eyes dancing with a playful, dangerous light that mirrored the guttering torches. "Why exactly did you come to seek me out in the dark quarters of the lower palace?"
