White text, black background screengrab from the writing app Scrivener. Text in image: Cindy: (bored but obliging) The Legion is made of dracbloods who secretly swear to serve the royal draconage, even though no living member of the Legion has actually met a Dracon of royal lineage — they're mostly dead or in hiding, so a bit difficult to serve. Kenna: There's a prince. Cindy: He avoids them like the Black Plague, which he lived through so that comparison is apt. He's a loner type, hates being stalked by obsessive fans. Kenna thinks of the ruby-scaled dragonblood at the joust. Kenna: So he wouldn't order a member of the Legion to stab me in the back for him? Cindy: Too crass! When he's ready to kill you he'll do it himself, face to face. Kenna reflexively touches the spot on her cheek where the prince’s blue blade pricked her skin. It left no scar but remembering that moment makes her skin tingle. You can still escape this bitter destiny. At the time, she was too scared to wonder why he didn’t just stab her through like he so casually did to the king she was trying to protect. Now, though...

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Finally picked one: