Imrahil regards his unrepentant daughter’s mulish eyes and compressed lips. He keeps his tone reasonable.
“It has been understood for years. The lands suit. He is a good, honorable man, who will care for you well.”
“I do not love him. May I not marry for love? The queen did, and Faramir.”
Imrahil thought they had much to answer for. “You will learn to love him. There is nothing against him.”
Lothiriel guiltily looks away. “I do not like his kisses.”
Suspicion surfaces. “Whom else have you been kissing?”
Eyes joyful, she smiles. “Éomer! Would not a king be better?”
(with many thanks to Tanaqui, whose story
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