"The latter," Marian clarified. "They spent their days looking for," Marian made a gracious sweep with her arm, palm up at the end, something slightly amused even at the edges of the seriously enacted gesture. "My Lord Sheriff."

Beat. "Though he was never was never My Lord, or even Sir Edward to me."
There's an unrepentantly fond, almost child-like, affection to those words.

Even if the thought is edged in an ache of sadness. It does not do to dwell, while she is powerless to the situation in being Bound, but her Father did not belong in a cell. Not for an hour even.