The archer making his bow to the Prince and his entourage looks familiar, but Marian can't quite place him until, while John's distracted, Fortigin shoves his nose under her ear and hisses, "That was Perfilia!"

Marian's breath quickens. The archer's daemon had looked to be a pine marten, not the sleek red fox she remembered from their childhood...! "Are you sure?"

"I'll never forget her scent." Fortigin settles back into Marian's lap, every inch the proper lady's daemon to all appearances, and the two of them endeavored to not look like they were watching the the stranger to the exclusion of all others.