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“We keep our gaze on the floor.”

“Why do we do that?”

“So that you don’t castrate us, sir.”

“Excellent. Now.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, and he swallows visibly. “The same rules apply to this lady.” I point inside my office. “She is the Spring princess.”

A tint of blush appears on his cheeks before he opens his mouth, likely thinks better of it, and simply nods.

“Go ahead.” I encourage him to speak freely.

“Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice that Olivera is missing.”

I tap my empty scabbard, already grieving my sword. “If she turns up around the Court tonight, bring her to me. Secure the office. I don’t want to be listened to or disturbed unless the two fools show up.”

Mason knows who the fools are, and with a small nod and jerk of his head to the rest of the unit, they disperse. I walk inside the office and close the door behind me, immediately moving toward the window on the left, where I survey the grounds before drawing the blinds.

While the males in my unit set up a warded perimeter around my office, the one that will repel anyone who wishes to speak to me—and I presume many wish to speak to me right now—, I move to sit behind my desk and I assess the princess before I interrogate her.

She doesn’t really look like a threat. She looks terrified.

“You’re safe here,” I tell her. At least for now.

She swallows, gaze finally finding mine. Pointing at the wall, she says, “What a big collection of weapons you have.”

The better to kill with. “It’s only decor.”

“Most people collect paintings as decor.”

“I draw maps.” I lift one, release it, let it fall on my desk.

“You draw?” She seems shocked.

“I have many talents.”

“I imagine you do.” She looks away, suddenly shy.

Ah. I believe I provoked a train of thought I hadn’t anticipated she would indulge in. It is springtime, and her heat is stirring, and I need to be more careful about what comes out of my mouth. Wearing my shirt over her wet body, she looks like an abandoned kitten.

“Have a seat, Princess.” I point to the guest chair. She keeps picking at the side of her thumb, the same spot where I spied blood on her gloves during the winter wedding. Since she remains standing with a glazed-over, faraway kind of look, I point to her thumb. “You will make it bleed again.”

The princess blinks as if just noticing I’m here.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What did you say?”

A royal shouldn’t apologize often, at least not as many times as this one has. A princess also doesn’t ask what in such a manner. Even though I’m not her teacher, I can’t help myself.

“Pardon me? is a more appropriate response for your station. Go ahead and practice.”

Confused, she tilts her head. A kitten, really.

“What?” she asks.

“You should use pardon me instead of what.”

I expect a reprimand for stepping out of line when correcting her, but all I get is a weak “Thank you,” which makes me feel like I shunned the kitten. There’s a reason why I’m the commander of the Summer Court’s armies and not a counselor to the Summer Court aristocrats. Where are my spoiled royals when I need them, hm?

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask.