What else would make her blush so prettily?
“You were awake,” she mumbles, avoiding my gaze.
“I usually am. Men need less sleep than women.”
She gapes at me. “Then why even pretend to let me take first watch if you’re not going to sleep?”
I shrug, the corners of my mouth twitching. “Because I know you wouldn’t tolerate anything less than being treated as my equal.” And I admire that tenacity in her.
I seem to have convinced her because she only gives back half the extra meat.
“Are you upset?” she asks quietly. “I used my power on you without permission. I should’ve asked first.”
I avert my gaze. Guilt sparks through me. Everything she says is subjected to my truthwielding. There’s no choice to lie or to conceal—and she doesn’t know.
Not that she’s lied at all.
“No,” I finally say. “You were doing me a kindness.”
“If Ihadasked,” she adds quickly, “you would’ve said, ‘No, Mayah. You’re just a Tundrayni baby. I’m a big, strong man. Save your reserves. I don’t need the element of surprise to overpower you because I’m a big, scary man.’”
Her imitation of me is so skiesdamned adorable that a rumbling, genuine laugh bursts from my lips.
“You don’t need to heal me every night,” I murmur, amusement still lacing my voice. “I’m used to sore muscles. And youarea delicate baby.”
She glares at me, aggressively biting into the charred rabbit meat. “I’m not a baby.”
“You need more sleep, too.”
“How do you know men need less sleep than women?”
My lips curve into a wicked smile that has her cheeks flaming. “Never mind,” she mutters. “Don’t answer that.”
Skies, I want to keep teasing her, keep making her blush.
I want to do so many things. My gaze flits to her betrothal ring, the black diamond mocking me in the firelight.
It’s better to stop now.
But it’s Mayah that continues treading into dangerous waters. “Have you been with … many women?” She can’t meet my gaze.
“Define ‘many.’”
I don’t think she could look more embarrassed.
“More than five.”
Oh, Mayah. A chagrined yet wolfish smile is my answer.
Her cheeks flush into a deeper pink. “It’s not fair,” she huffs. “There’s no purity test you need to worry about.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “It isn’t fair. The purity test is archaic.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen with surprise. “You wouldn’t care if your wife wasn’t pure?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t care. If I … loved her, I’d probably be burning with jealousy at the thought of her with someone else.”
My hands clench and unclench in my lap.
