“So, I wrote back, At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord.

He'd returned that evening, smirking like a cat, and had merely said 'One hell of a High Lord?' by way of greeting.

I'd sent a bucket's worth of water splashing into his face.

Rhys hadn't bothered to shield against it. And instead shook his wet hair like a dog, spraying me until I yelped and darted away. His laughter had chased me up the stairs.”