But her head whipped upward so fast she nearly knocked his nose. The gold in Yrene’s eyes flared. “Chaol,” she breathed, and he thought it might have been the first time she’d called him such. But she looked down, dragging his stare with her. Down his bare torso, his bare legs. To his toes. To his toes, slowly curling and uncurling. As if trying to remember the movement.
