"…Ah." The syllable deflated out of him, a mix of chastened and amused.
"I'm fine walking in silence."
Lor shut his mouth.
He got the message: shut up.
Loud and clear.
The only sounds then were the soft crunch of their boots on the path, the steady roll of cart wheels grinding over roots and pebbles, and the distant hum of town life filtering through the trees as they neared the edges of the market road—vendors calling out, wagons rumbling, the faint clamor of daily bustle.
Lor's thoughts churned louder than the birds overhead, a whirlwind of frustration and fascination.
His pulse wouldn't slow, no matter how calm she looked, her expression as serene as a frozen lake.
Because what he wanted more than anything—more than coins, more than secrets, more than victories—was sex with her.
The way she moved with that effortless grace, the way she never flinched from anything, the way her expressionless face could still slice through him like ice on bare skin.
