The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. It was Blueskin. She danced with two others. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. She went to her own table and sat down. Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. Shocked and appalled, she brought her left knee up fast, ramming his testicles swiftly. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.
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