Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

Sasha spoke quickly, quietly, as if she wanted him to listen but wasn’t brave enough to make sure he heard. "When you kissed me, I felt . . . joyful. In fact, I’ve never felt joy like that in my whole life. I’ve never felt anything like that. If I had . . . my lips would remember. My heart would remember. I want very much to feel that way again."

"That is . . . joy," Sasha whispered, looking down at him. "It has to be."

"No. That is pleasure," he replied curtly, stepping away from her horse.

She stared down at him, her gaze knowing, absorbing his terse dismissal. "Maybe pleasure feels like joy. But pleasure can be satisfied, and joy never needs to be. It is a glory all its own," she said.

Kjell rushed to explain before Tiras drew his own conclusions.

"Tiras, Queen Lark, this is Sasha. Of Quondoon. Of . . . Kilmorda." Kjell bit back a curse at his clumsy introduction and continued with more care. "I have promised her a position here in the castle. I would view it as a personal favor if she could remain here. For the time being. For the near future."

He ceased talking.

“You are kind,� she said softly.

“I am not kind,� Kjell scoffed.

“And you are good,� she added.

“I am not good!� he laughed.

“I have never known a man like you.�

“You were a slave in Quondoon! The men you knew were not trying to impress you.�

“Neither are you, Captain. Yet I am still impressed.�

“Then you have a lot to learn.�

She nodded slowly, and he was immediately remorseful. Her old master had told her she was simple. She was not simple. She was wise . . . and infuriating.

“Why do I make you so angry?� she asked.

“You don’t make me angry,� he argued, frustration making his hands curl.

“I do,� she insisted, looking at him steadily.

“You do not know me. You have no idea who I am. You think I’m a Healer, but I have slain more men than I have healed.�

She was silent for a moment, absorbing his confession. He began walking back toward the cave, expecting her to follow. “You are wrong, Captain,� she called after him. “I do know you. I knew your face before I met you. I saw you more times than I can count. You have always given me hope.�

His heart tripped and his feet followed, and he stopped walking to avoid falling on his face in the shifting sand. He didn’t look back at her, but she had to know he heard her. With a lusty exhale, he resumed walking, minding his step.

_______________

“I thought you were angry with me,� she whispered.

“I am,� he admitted.

“But you are kind,� she whispered.

“I’m not kind.�

“And you are good,� she said, repeating the lines they’d exchanged once before.

“I am not good.� He felt like weeping. He was not good. He was not generous. He was not courageous or compassionate. He simply loved her. And love made him a better man. That was all.