"A stolen rose, how romantic," I smiled, running my fingers over the stem looking for thorns before I tucked the blossom behind my ear. I picked up my glass and took a sip. The wine was tart and fizzy on my tongue, the stuff was ruinously expensive, shipped from Brettonia, but it had taken Tilea by storm in recent years. I wondered if a priest could afford such extravagance, but that wasn't really my concern, if he wound up being chased through the streets by Caprese's bully boys, that wouldn't stop me returning the palace.

"Most of my suitors tend to be Tilean," I admitted, "a woman can only stand so many poems extoling the 'chocolate hue of her hair' or the 'flashing of chest nut eyes' or whatever else.

"You aren't a musician are you Master Priest? You aren't going to write a lute song or something?" I teased.

"How is it that you came to serve this Sigmorr of yours?" I asked, placing my chin in my hands and leaning forward.

"It is strange to me that one would study in Tilea and decide to go back to fog and beer and beastmen," I admitted.