"Lord Mortimer?" Isolde's heart leaped into her throat as she recognized the man slouched in the corner booth.
It was Lord Mortimer, the high council member who had helped her the very first dinner at the Forsythian court. She recalled how he had rescued her from Rose's barrage of annoying remarks, she had not seen him very much after that evening only in passing but they scarcely acknowledged each other. He sat alone, a half-empty mug of ale in front of him, his appearance somewhat disheveled. His eyes were red-rimmed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Isolde hesitantly approached his table, not wanting to intrude but feeling compelled to offer some kind of comfort. "Lord Mortimer?" she said softly.
