“Ah, Anne,” Richard says, and grimaces, pulling at one shoulder with the opposite hand, as he does more and more often these days. “You say that now, but you may not always feel so - you should have caution, for who knows what manner of man I’ll grow into, at this rate.”

“A good one,” she insists, and tugs at him until he tips into the solar’s window seat with a groan of defeat, where she can climb up beside him to dig her small fists into the knotted muscles trying their best to straighten his frame, “and I will so marry you, you’ll see.”