“I don’t like that,” the smuggler groused. “Really? I’d say it’s really fucking handy that I’m trained in plant medicines.” “No, not… that.” He had to take a breath between words. “Your Highness. I don’t like it when you call me… Your Highness.” I snorted. “You are the true heir to the Winter Throne, are you not?” “All right. I’ll start calling you Lord Cahlish, then, shall I?” “Not if you want to keep your fucking tongue,” I growled. Carrion straightened, looking up at the ceiling as he thought about this. “Umm. Yeah, I kinda need my tongue.” He took a deep breath and then sighed it back out.
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