“Like an overcooked rabbit,” I answered. His eyes crinkled with amusement, making him look closer to his own age again. “You’re the fire. Muffle your flames.” “Ah, but that requires self-control. And we both know—” “You have very little of that,” he completed with a crooked smile that did nothing to lower my temperature. Despite his light words, there were signs of tension in the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. “Are you all right?” I asked. “Brother Thistle has been hovering over me like a mother hen. If he persists, I’m going to lock him in the keep.” “He loves you.” “And I love
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