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Summary
Jason sets the objects on the table, arranging them and popping the cork on the inkwell. He dips the quill into the inkpot, letting it drip before moving onto the paper.
“Sir, are you going to handwrite the letter?” Artemis sounds slightly stunned, mouth falling open. “We do have clerks.”
“It is a courtesy. The prince wrote his letter, why should I not?” He glances towards her. “Now, if you will, I’d like to have the tent to myself.”
Artemis merely takes a stiff bow, before stepping away, gold necklaces jangling against each other, sheath swinging from her hip.
“Wait,” Jason calls out, tapping a finger on his desk, not looking up. “The prince, his name would be Roy Harper, correct?”
She turns around slowly. “Yes?”
Jason clicks his tongue once, before gesturing for her to continue on her patrol.
Roy Harper, eh?
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