Ceri made a face. On me it would have looked ugly; on her, it looked comely. “I do,” she said sourly. “He is kind with me, and gentle. He is clever with words and quick to follow my thoughts, and we enjoy each other’s company. His bloodline is impeccable …” She hesitated, her eyes going to her fingers, now sitting still in her lap. A deep breath lifted through her and was gone. “And he won’t touch me without fear.”
My brow furrowed in anger.
“It’s the demon smut,” she said distantly, shame in her gaze darting about. “He thinks it’s the bloody kiss of death. That I’m filthy and foul, and that it’s catching.”
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