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Summary
“Favour? What are you talking about?” Thomas scoffed dismissively “I don’t owe you anything, Robin!”
“Do too! Remember? 1825?”
Thomas did remember. He remembered every day, in fact, because part of him wondered if Robin would keep his word or had even remembered himself. His disgusted facade was made of stone, though, for the Poet’s self-respect would never let him admit the suspense for the last two-hundred years had been exhaustingly titillating.
Or: Robin never forgets what he’s owed, not even bets from long ago.
Series
- Part 3 of Thorny chess husbands