"Where did I get what?" she asked, breezing past him into the hall and deliberately obliterating any possibility of their next words being a private conversation.  "Where are we going next?  Shall we have dinner?  It [i]is[/i] getting late."

She measured her faint reflection in the window, adjusting her step appropriately, lifting and tightening her wide swordsman's belt.  She let her eyes linger on a passing young nobleman in a green longcoat, making sure he noticed and drawing the ire of his ladyfriend when he did.  The conflict of emotion was like colored sugar on her tongue.  His longing for her form and male vanity at her appreciation contrasted with his sour contempt that she was southern.  Her anger spiced with her hatred and her fear and her fragile but heartfelt love.

Yes, she thought.  She could make this work.