Margaret was waiting at the Valcrest estate entrance when Damien and Elara arrived near midnight, her expression caught between concern and exasperation.
"Young master. Saintess." She took in their appearance – Elara's lightly torn robes, Damien's rough clothes, the exhaustion radiating from both. "I heard about the dinner. Half the city's talking about it already."
"News travels fast," Damien said dryly.
"When the Saintess publicly challenges the High Priest and claims divine revelation, yes, it tends to spread quickly." Margaret's voice was matter-of-fact. "The Duke wants to see you both in the morning. For now, I've prepared the blue guest suite."
"Not separate rooms?" Elara asked, too tired to be subtle.
