Liska watches over her shoulder as he turns away briefly. When he looks back, he is holding something in the palm of his hand: a twinkling flower from the rock face, moonlight slipping off its velveteen petals. He tucks it behind Liska’s ear. ‘I must tell you, my enchanting fox,’ he murmurs, ‘that you deserve someone far better than me. And yet –’ his fingers brush the tip of her ear, linger there – ‘and yet, and yet and yet, I am a selfish creature, and I do not want to let you go.’
🤭
