Before Atticus could do something ridiculous like fling himself out of their window, a knock at the door distracted them.
"Your Highnesses? Princess Cordelia is requesting your presence."
"Duty calls," Daphne said, blinking rapidly as she mentally told herself to snap out of that dreamy state. The way Atticus had gazed at her had sent a frisson of desire coursing through her, causing her to feel breathless in a way the corset had failed to do.
"Right," Atticus said faintly. Were his ears fooling him, or was there a hint of disappointment in Daphne's voice?
But Daphne merely turned away and followed the servant Cordelia had sent to fetch them. He led them to an open courtyard, where Cordelia was dressed in a suit of lightweight armor as she rested underneath the shelter in her tunic and slacks. There was a table with a pitcher of juice in front of her, and next to her were racks after racks of weapons, glinting menacingly in the sun.
