“Outrank them, perhaps. But I can’t refuse to let them search you.” “No?” She leaned in, holding his gaze, keeping her voice low. “If I were truly your wife, you would let their filthy hands strip me naked while their gazes wolfed me down?” The look that crossed his face was primal. Raw. Like she’d let a prowling animal escape inside him. “Of course not,” he said, wrangling it. “I’d never let them strip a girl I loved and search her body for scars—but we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about you.” His eyes had gone cold as the sea. “You’re not a girl. You’re a witch.”
