Keiser turned his face away, refusing to meet her eyes.
His gaze fixed instead on the shelves lining the far wall, rows of parchment and scrolls stacked so meticulously they seemed untouched by time. Each one was worth a fortune, the knowledge and offerings of generations, gifts brought to her altar by countless worshippers.
All the wealth of the kingdom at her back, and yet here she sat across from him, calm and unshaken, as though the last hour had never happened.
As though she hadn't struck him with her hand, sharp enough to sting his cheeks and pride.
As though she hadn't smuggled them out beneath the very noses of the knights hunting them, then demanded her due the moment they were safe.
As though she hadn't ushered them into her temple, fed them, offered them rest, and now, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sat close enough to hold his hand as if it mattered.
Her touch lingered. It was soft, steady, and disarmingly warm.
