Rosalyn Lockhart opened the doors to her room and strode out—alone. The cat had fled its master's house, but that much was an intention on her part. The silly kitten was shy when it was asked something and could not offer superfluous answers.
It was an interesting break from her schedule.
As she stepped out, she'd see her Knight waiting by underneath the painting and his image was much more riveting than those on stilted portraits. Dutiful as ever and patient, a rose in his hand. A deadly beauty like no other. He bowed his head and greeted her, looking up with a smile on his face. "Good morning, Rosalyn."
But this was all routinary.
