"I fancy thou dost wonder, lurking youth," the Duke says, leaning his crossbow against the balcony, "why thou shouldst be so summoned to these heights. In brief, this merry steward spoke thy name when asked I for her counsel on the morn."
You find yourself nodding in rhythm with the Duke's words. You wonder if nobles are conditioned to speak in verse, or if they gurgle in iambic pentameter straight from the womb….
"A diplomatic quandary had me vexed," he goes on, "but through thee I can see a fitting end."
"Through me, your Grace?" you say, feeling your pulses quicken. You're hardly sure you like hearing that these two have discussed your fitting end.
Onward