Chapter 47

It had been Leila’s lavish, feather-bestowed hat, easily a foot tall and another two in diameter that started everything. While Leila had rattled on about things that bored even Emmett as he sat at Andrewe’s side, Andrewe had sat slumped in his wingchair, chin in hand, drifting behind unfocussed eyes. Leila had paused, taken a sip of tea, and pointedly asked Andrewe, “Do you not agree, your Highness?”

To which Andrewe had snapped back to attention, frowned at Leila, and said, “M’lady, are you aware that something has flown into your head and died there? For, apparently, it has done so rather wildly and tragically.”