"Perhaps something that's a bit heavier than a dagger," he admits. "With length. Your agility and your core of strength would permit you to wield it far better than any man I have seen." He knows that Anne had always been quite adept with a dagger and only now, looking back, does he truly understand why.

He presses a hand to his aching head. The wine had been helpful at the time, but now only exists as an ache.