“I’m sorry. I’m not … good, at accepting praise.” “I’ll have to help you practice, then,” said Cae. Unhelpfully, his brain reacted to this by conjuring up an image of Velasin, dishevelled and panting in his bed as Cae whispered filthy endearments into his ear. Cae slammed a mental door on that (very intriguing, absolutely to be considered later) prospect and returned his focus to the moment.
