"Ah, they didn't agree with you, eh?" Ambrose replied, missing the knight's implication at first. "Yeah, I've heard of that. The callow youth of the field often have arguments and feuds with the parents of their sweethearts." Then, he raised a brow, catching something wrong with his theory. He'd said, 'treason,' not 'rashness' or 'foolishness.' He was nearly run down in making it here. All for the sake of a woman he could not obtain on his own merit, whose kin had been described by the one most likely to exaggerate on their behalf as monstrous. "Blessed Saint Elimine," he swore softly, then addressed his companion in a whisper barely audible in the din of the reeking, stinking, overfull tavern. "Kin of the Emperor? You fell for the kin of the emperor?"
![[Image: 20c7YiV.png]](http://i.imgur.com/20c7YiV.png)
Thank you Destin, for the awesome mug of Ambrose.