Malaki stepped closer, his tall, imposing figure blocking the cold wind for her. He reached down with his large, calloused, gloved hands, gently taking the silver clasp from her trembling fingers and fastening it securely beneath her chin.
"Hold your tongue, little owl," Malaki murmured softly, his dark eyes looking down into hers with an undisguised, tender warmth that made my heart swell. "If you catch a cold, who is going to pour my tea back at the Keep?"
Grace bit her lower lip, looking up at him through her long eyelashes, her small hands clutching the warm fur collar tightly against her chest. "I... I will always pour your tea, My Lord."
Malaki let out a soft, low chuckle, reaching out with a single finger to gently tap the tip of her cold, red nose. "Good. Then wear the cloak and stop complaining."
