"Madam!"
It wasn't every day that Arkai pronounced the 'd' in that word. The crisp, mortified 'Madam', not the usual rumbling Ma'am that rolled off his tongue, escaped him before he could stop it, before he could catch it between his teeth and shove it back down his throat where it belonged.
His Johnny.
The name of his tool. His equipment. His most private of private assets, now casually discussed in the middle of a garden.
In front of a Crown Prince.
In front of the Saintess.
In front of a foreign Princess.
He, a hundred-year-old wolf, a grandpa by any reasonable standard, old and dignified and supposed to be above such earthly embarrassments, just stood there, his face burning like a signal fire visible from three kingdoms away, and wished for death.
Ivy Cassia's jaw went slack.
