I pretended I couldn’t feel the sudden heat in my cheeks. “This”—I waved a hand at the full taproom—“would never happen in Legacia. Respectable women aren’t allowed to mix like this.” The only women in bars were serving wenches and sex workers.
“So I’ve heard.” He picked up his mug. “You’ll find things much different in Rymar.”
Before I had a chance to reply, Rhys burst back into the busy bar. Two bewildered people trailed behind her. “We’re here! I brought them. This is my son, Clive, and his wife, Mary.”
Remy took long seconds to study the newcomers before offering a brief nod and a tight smile.
I stared too. We couldn’t trust Grace’s care to just anyone. The couple in front of us was past the first bloom of youth. Perhaps in their mid-thirties. Like his mother’s, Rhys’s son’s face was marked with laugh lines. His smile was genuine. His eyes were kind. His wife, a pretty brunette, stared at the baby in my lap as if the gods had answered her prayers.
“Would you like to hold her?” I offered, standing.
Mary caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded tremulously.
When I transferred Grace into her waiting arms, Mary’s brown eyes filled with tears.
I gave Remy a small nod. This couple desperately wanted children. They would love Grace as their own.
“Please,” said Remy. “Sit. Let’s get to know each other.”
Mary’s eyes grew wide. Apparently, being asked to join the prince’s table was more than she’d bargained for.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “He doesn’t bite. Much.”
She laughed softly, removing the empty bottle from Grace’s lips, then pressing the baby to her chest as she rubbed tiny circles on her little back. Rather than taking a seat, she swayed gently.
Grace cooed her approval before belching like a sailor.
Clive was a miller who grew prize marrows. Mary took in sewing. She’d won the pie contest at the town fair three years running. They were good people. Kind people. And they looked at Grace as if she was a miracle. They wanted her. Desperately.
So, obviously, my throat tightened with unspent emotion.
“Are you okay?” Remy touched my arm, and I shifted my gaze from Grace to him. His handsome face held none of the scorn or arrogance that had repelled me when we first met.
“I’m happy for Grace,” I croaked.
His expression softened, and he turned to Clive. “This child will never lack for anything. I’ll see to it that she has whatever she needs.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Clive asked, his voice careful. “Would we truly be her parents, or would we be caring for her on behalf of the crown?”
“And what happens when she’s older?” Mary added, still swaying with Grace. “Do you expect her to appear at court? To serve some royal purpose?”
Remy shook his head. “She would be yours in every way that matters. The crown’s only interest is ensuring she’s loved and cared for.”
Tears trickled down Mary’s cheeks, but when she looked at her husband, uncertainty flickered across her face. “Clive, we should talk about this. Properly. At home.”
The taproom door flew open, and Zane strode inside, his eyes immediately searching until they found us. He paused when he spotted the strangers at our table, his gaze sharpening as he took in Mary holding Grace. Moving with the unstudied grace of a large predator, he approached our table.
“Zane,” I said quickly, “meet Clive and Mary. They’re interested in giving Grace a home.”
His expression didn’t change, but I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. “Are they?”
“General.” William approached, wearing a welcoming smile. “What may I serve you?”
“Ale.” Zane collapsed into the remaining chair.
“Dinner, General?”
“Not now, thank you.”
