"Sterling, I know I am but an old, feeble man. However, I am not blind. I can see how much you care for this girl. Let the uplifting feelings drown you, so the unpleasant ones die. The Duchess is not like the others. I know she will be understanding of you and not forsake the dragon."
The monk revealed what he had heard Faye pray for earlier.
"In the chapel tonight, when we prayed, the only thing the Duchess asked of the creator was for your safety and wellbeing. That you were not wet or cold, that you had shelter and did not thirst or hunger."
Sterling sat impassively and listened to the Friar as he continued to wind his fingers in Faye's long blonde hair. It shimmered like spun gold and felt silky as it glided between his digits. Reminding him of a painted portrait of his mother that hung in his study at Everton. Their resemblances were uncanny.
