"How ridiculously anti-romantic of you, Highness." And boo on that. Boo indeed. "I thought your type were meant to be entirely pro this sort of sweeping, dramatic gesture."
Well. Colour him approving slightly more of the Hearts for electing a Queen without too many romantic notions. For given values of electing. And for given values of actually still fuck the Hearts but maybe this one isn't so bad.
"Should I find myself a lady-love, Mistress Tart, I'll endeavour to fall for her slightly closer to us than five-hundred miles off. She'll understand, surely."
Irritation flashes momentarily across her face. Tugging is Not Allowed. It's something her ridiculous father would do.
"Come now. You might as well say, 'I purchased these spectacular boots and am looking for an excuse to break them in, though I must admit the blisters were a hardship.' Shouldn't your light of love appreciate cleverness instead?"
She slips from the branch. Better to stand and withdraw the tug temptation.
"I should hope so, but it's really rather more in vogue to make songs for the general masses." Which is a shame, a damn shame. But, well.
He likes eating. So much he likes eating. And people paying him so he can eat.
"And it's far more likely to please if it's a broad, bold statement like 'for you, I would walk five hundred miles,' rather than anything with more nuance."
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