Summary
Catherine had endured enough. For two years, she tolerated frayed curtains and worn-out shoes, all to honor her late mother’s memory. Now, she was done. “Fine, I’ll go,” she declared, weary of it all. Suddenly, a drenched, mud-tracked stranger barged into her home. “The Pope’s watchdog, I presume?” she remarked dryly, eyeing his soiled boots. Unimpressed by his disguise and drawn sword, she thrust a rag at him. “Wipe the floor. And put that away—unless you’d like to be charged with trespassing and attempted murder.”