THE ORCHARD whispered with a cool wind as Marsil and his friends moved across the trees. Ferra's eyes widened at her surroundings for she had never seen so much land beauty before.
Ripe fruits of lemons and oranges hung down the trees at arm's reach. The air was fresher, cleaner, and slightly wet, as if a cold rain was about to blow by.
This was the uniqueness of the Moor.
"There!" Hemlock called, pointing to a flattened patch of grass.
Esabel scoffed at the grass bed.
"What? You think someone is here just because the grass looks stepped on?"
"Yes, I do," Hemlock replied with a frown. The Princess's grin stretched and he turned away to face Marsil.
"What do you think, Lord Silverheel?"
The Vampire Prince made no effort to correct the tattooed redhead in his use of formality. He had grown tired of doing so. If Hemlock wished to call him Lord, then so be it. He however replied his question.
