paused to wipe away his tears. To kiss his
cheeks, then his mouth. Loving, gentle
touches.
Aedion slid his arms around her and held
her tightly under the stars and moonlight.
How long they stood in the street, he didn’t
know. But then a throat cleared nearby, and
they peeled apart to turn toward its source.
A young man, no older than thirty, stood
there.
Staring at Lysandra.
Not a messenger, or a soldier, though he
wore the heavy clothes of the rukhin. There
was a self-possessed purpose to him, a quiet
sort of strength in his tall frame as he
swallowed.
“Are you—are you Lady Lysandra?”
Lysandra angled her head. “I am.”
The man took a step, and Aedion
suppressed the urge to push her behind him.
lily
(lily)
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