"Have you told her already?" The king asked his son, who paid him a visit that night in his own library.
Prince Dundeas was sitting comfortably across the chair from his table. A small, wooden pipe was clipped between his teeth, and a puff of gray smoke appeared right out of its small opening before it floated into the air, and then gradually faded. He exhaled two more puffs before he faced his father, whose stern, wicked eyes were trained on him. "Not yet, Dadda. I was still bidding my time to tell her." He answered truthfully.
His brows furrowed deeply, and his lips were pressed together. He rose from his chair and loomed over his son with a disapproving look. "You better be if you intend to marry her. Remember, my son, I agreed to your request to get bethroted to her on one condition—her wings shall be removed." He whispered with a sly tone.
