That fact she had kept hidden from most so far, but some things slipped out when she was in a rage, or when Leane was in a humor. No shaggy cart horses. Of course, Elayne could not be pleased, when not only her right to be called Aes Sedai but her right to the title of Daughter-Heir was doubted so openly. A gray-haired cook paused in raking coals from atop an iron oven to give her a grin of shared amusement.
Mat, Perrin. Not too coolly, but razor-sharp anger and spiky jealousy still threaded through the clean scent of her and her herbal soap. The lashed-together title burned on her tongue. The woman saw every man as a potentially rabid wolf, and there was no gainsaying her when she truly wanted something.
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