“Look, are you going to kill me or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I lift a hand to my shoulder and roll it, pressing in on the sore muscles, but it doesn’t help the ache. “Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek. “Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.” Markham or Emetterio. Scribe or rider.
lol knowing that would make it an easier decision. I mean, with his signet there's no chance...
