“And consort?” I whisper. “We aren’t married.” He fucking smirks. “I’ve noticed. But ‘girlfriend’ is missing that permanent tone. If it makes you more comfortable, consort is used pretty loosely in Navarrian aristocratic circles. Pretty sure the Duke of Calldyr has had four different consorts in as many years. The designation just gets you the invitation into this place, plus gives you the protection and privileges of my title—” “I don’t need the protection and privileges—” I shake my head as we pass another row of palms. “Ouch.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “Never thought you’d reject me.”
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