Doreah let out a soft, pleased sigh against the warm skin of his chest, her fingers idly circling over the place where his heart beat slow and steady beneath her touch. Baelon's arms were around her in that way he often held her when the heat between them had faded into something quieter—something gentler. Not possessive. Not desperate. But something like longing, as if he was always on the verge of being torn away.
Her lips tilted in a knowing smile at his jest, the sort of smile that always came naturally when he spoke like that—half teasing, half truth. She tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze, her cheek resting easily on him. His compliment didn’t make her blush. It never had. Doreah had long learned the power of her body and her words, and she wielded both like silk-wrapped knives. But this—this quiet warmth in his voice when he said such things—it made something else stir in her. Not vanity. Not pride. Something quieter. Sadder.
“Then it is good you never asked me to,” she said softly, voice lilting with the trace of her old tongue, sensual even when she didn’t try. “I was not born to kneel. Unless asked nicely for other. . .activities.” Doreah's lips curve into a knowing smile. She leaned up just slightly, placing a kiss to his shoulder, letting her lips linger there like punctuation before settling back down again.
His question hung in the space between them, curling in the heat of the room. Lys. Gods, how long had it been since someone had asked her that? “The sea,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “I remember the color of the water. Not blue like here. Not green. Brighter. Too bright. Like glass when it catches the sun just right. And the breeze always smelled like citrus—lemons and something sweeter.”
Her hand moved up to rest on his chest, her thumb brushing the hollow beneath his collarbone. “There was a market near the steps of what used to be the old Dragon Gate of the Valyrian Stronghold. My patron, Prince Lysandro had his personal house there, and gave me the best of views. He crowned me Goddess of Love every year.” A soft laugh, faraway. “And how the women used to dance in the courtyards at night, not because they were paid to. Just because they could.” She went quiet again, her eyes closing, her breath steady. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine it—not the past, but a future. A small house in Lys. A courtyard. A man who held her like this, but not just for the night.
But then the moment passed. It always did.
“Why do you ask?” she murmured against his skin, almost afraid to know the answer. “Are you thinking of flying there?”
