"Gunslingers," she supplies, automatically. "Aye, they're like knights, but--"

But they're not mine, she starts to say, thinking of their service to a court where she'd never been a lady, only to stop, for in the end, he's not wrong, is he? Not at the heart of it all.

(ka-tet)

A soft, delighted smile curves her lips and sparkles in the fog-gray glance, bright and shining.

"-- ye say true," Susan agrees, instead. "They're of the very best of men."