The late morning sun slanted through the shutters of Melissa Redwyne’s chamber, catching on overturned cushions, a half-empty flagon of Arbor gold, and Melissa herself, sprawled languidly across her bed in a silk gown better suited for last night than today. The Arbor was at peace, the Reach quiet, and Melissa had seen no reason to rise with the bells, especially not when the wine had been kind and generous.

The door creaked open. Her father’s castellan cleared his throat, stiff as ceremony demanded, and announced that her suitor, long expected, long scheduled, had arrived to begin his courtship. Behind him stood the man himself, dressed for an audience, blinking at the sight before him: an uncombed Redwyne beauty, drunk and wholly unprepared.

Melissa cracked one eye open, took in the scene, and lifted her goblet in a lazy salute.

“Oh... That was today?”