It feels strangely intimate to stand, palm to palm, in front of the priestess. We gaze into each other’s eyes as she speaks the words of the ceremony. I should pay attention to what she’s saying. I should listen and make note of all the ways that this world is similar to ours in custom, but Rhagos’s palms tickle mine, and he watches me with such a hungry stare that I can’t look away. I can’t pay attention to anything but the sight of him in front of me, so handsome.
