Zalthor's sharp eyes caught it as Yeara slowly moved her hands atop his. As she spoke, her gaze locked onto him while he lifted her knuckles to his lips.
"Is there something perhaps Your Majesty wants to know?" she asked softly.
Her body shivered lightly as his lips brushed against her skin, making her body burn momentarily in a divine way. The faint warmth of his breath lingered against her hand.
Zalthor slowly pulled away, his dark eyes never leaving hers as he lowered her hand. Yet he did not release it; he simply held it, his thumb slowly caressing the place she had bitten before he spoke.
"Is it wrong for a husband to ask his wife a question because he wants to hear her melodic voice?" he asked.
His words moved through her like a quiet current. Her lips curved shyly, and her face burned once again.
His cold eyes drifted briefly to her nails as he caressed them momentarily before his gaze returned to her eyes, flickering to her lips and then back again.
