He smelled like tea and something clean and sweet. I wanted to arch into him, but he was sapping me of all the tension and strength that had seized me from the dream, his hands now circling and dragging down my arms. My lips shut, not torn and chapped but smooth at last, and his eyes stared down at my lap as he massaged my hands out of their painful claw. "Laszlo," I rasped. "I brought you the wax for Hywel's scales," he said.
