His fingers compress my cheeks harder, and my lips are pushed into a pout by the force of his grip. When we were children, Rince and Brayda and I used to squish our own cheeks and make faces at each other, just like this—and when I imagine how my face must look right now, a bubble of laughter rises inside me. I can’t help it. He must see the merriment in my eyes, because his own widen abruptly, and the flames fade somewhat. “What is the joyful thing you do for yourself?” I say through my bulging lips. His mouth twitches, and sparks of humor dance in his gaze. “Gods, Cailin.” With a hoarse
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