Dierdre was wearing only a translucent salad bowl and some beetroot paste.
Blue blood filled Gridd’s aristocratic flesh pencil. He made a low moaning sound, tore off his clothes and threw them into the open fire place, which had spontaneously combusted the moment their eyes had met. He strode over to Felicity, whisked the salad bowl from her head and threw it out the window. It landed in the Aegean Sea several hours later. He then picked up Felicity and threw her against the wall.
“Do me, your highness,” whispered Dierdre.
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