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Sharing: The Mistress of the Shadowland; The next Chapter
Hey hey, Lovelies!
Here is the newest chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!
„We should get dressed,” Anwyn heard Trálír say. “Even if your father was able to overcome his prejudices against me, I don't want to meet him without my clothes when he comes home. I can imagine he wouldn't be very pleased about that.”
His voice sounded amused and he raised his eyes to look at Anwyn. When he noticed the young woman's tense, almost unhappy-looking face, he frowned questioningly and his gaze darkened with concern.
“Anwyn?” asked the high elf, who slowly stood up and looked at her in irritation, but Anwyn avoided his gaze, reached for her now dry undergarment and held it between her hands against her chest.
Trálír leaned forward a little and tenderly clasped her wrists while tilting his head to one side, his gaze still in consternation. He could feel the tension in her body, in her stiff wrists and see it in her shoulders, which she pushed back to give the appearance of being self-confident. Trálír could also see in her eyes that there was something unspoken between them. Something that Anwyn probably couldn't or didn't want to put into words?
He looked at her in silence, giving her the time she needed until she finally spoke to him quietly and bashfully.
“Why don't you want to sleep with me?” Anwyn asked abruptly, the look in her big brown eyes a mixture of uncertainty and dejection.
“What?”
Trálír stared at Anwyn in dismay.
“Don't you want to sleep with me, Trálír? Am I not ... enough for you?” With a tremor in her voice, Anwyn asked this question to the elf standing in front of her, whose face was characterized by bewilderment.
“No. NO!”
Anwyn's breath caught at his denial of her question and the lump that formed in her throat could not prevent her eyes from becoming moist with fear and the apprehension that Trálír was not really interested in her, that he did not find her body attractive enough to make the next move. When Trálír realized that his answer had hurt her, which he could clearly see in her expression, he quickly shook his head. “No! No, I didn't mean it like that!”
Anwyn looked to the side, depressed, biting her lips to stifle the rising sobs.
“Please, let me explain,” Trálír asked and approached her, while Anwyn held the dry undergarment in front of her breasts like a shield. But before he could address her and explain himself, Anwyn shook her head dejectedly and began to speak in a shame-filled voice.
“I ... I know that humans or half-elves who are close to each other do more than ... than just that. They explore their bodies and give themselves to each other, but ... but you don't seem to want to?”
Trálír looked at Anwyn speechlessly, trying to fathom how she had come up with the idea that he might not be interested in her.
“Don't you think I'm... pretty enough?” Anwyn asked in a halting voice and Trálír shook his head quickly. He cupped her face with his fingers and looked at her seriously as he spoke the next words to her. “Anwyn, Love. Everything in me longs to explore you, to lose myself in you. Every moment I don't spend near you is a challenge for me because I would love nothing more than to spend all my time together with you. When you’re not around me I miss your voice, your kisses, your laughter, your presence. I miss you.”
“But ... but why ...?” Anwyn asked, looking at Trálír uncertainly and finally breaking off.
“Because I want the last act between us to be something special,” the high elf explained, looking at her gently. “I want this moment to be the one you deserve. I want to worship you, to love you. I want you to be more than just a moment of lust, more than just a physical desire to be satisfied,” Trálír explained softly. Anwyn swallowed.
“And I want you to be my wife in this moment,” he added.
“What?” Anwyn stared at Trálír, stunned.
“I want you to be my wife, Anwyn,” Trálír said slowly, his voice soft but firm. “If we give each other this gift, then I want to be able to call you my wife.”
“But that will never happen, Trálír,” Anwyn replied with a heavy heart. “You will not be allowed to marry me.”
“You are more to me than an adventure, a love affair or a mistress. You are my Thiramin, Anwyn. The woman who owns my heart and you will become my wife. I will find a way.”
He smiled a little uncertainly, but Anwyn saw that every word he spoke was true.
“Only if you accept me as your husband, of course,” he continued and she saw his chest rise and fall with his words. He was nervous. Anwyn's face filled with a radiance that was in no way inferior to the sun that stood above them. Her eyes sparkled with joy, she placed her hands in his and nodded emotionally.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I want you to be my husband. But...”
“Shhhh,” Trálír interrupted Anwyn's words, shook his head slowly and kissed her tenderly. When he broke away from the long, love-filled kiss, he whispered against her lips: “I will find a way, Anwyn, I promise you that. Whatever happens, you will be the woman by my side. My wife.”
*****
Trálír slipped into his boots and straightened up, his gaze on Anwyn who was standing only a few steps away from him on the bank of the stream, also getting dressed. The words he had spoken to her, his confession to her of how much he loved her and that she was to be his wife, made her brown eyes light up with happiness. There was no mistaking the joy on her pretty face. Her complexion looked healthy and radiant, there was a slight smile on her lips and her whole body glowed contentment. As he watched her run her hands through her curls, he quickly moved forward and grabbed her wrists. Surprised, she paused and looked at him questioningly.
“Don't,” he whispered with a soft smile.
Anwyn grimaced unhappily. “But you know that I...”
“Yes, I know,” Trálír interrupted her gently. “And I wish you could see how beautiful you are.”
A slight blush crept over Anwyn's cheeks as she heard his words.
“Don't say that,” she answered, shaking her head. “My hair looks like a magician has cast a lightning spell on me.”
“No, the lightning spells aren't that bad,” Trálír replied with a grin and laughed when Anwyn looked at him with feigned indignation.
“Well, I'll let my hair down then,” she finally conceded. “For now.”
Trálír leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, which Anwyn returned by placing her hands on his waist and looking at him lovingly.
“In return, you will now sit on the floor and finally let me treat your hands.”
Trálír gave a tragic sigh, sat down on the floor and looked up at Anwyn, who was smiling contentedly at him.
“And I thought I could have distracted you from that,” he murmured and leaned back on his hands.
“By kissing me?” Anwyn asked, amused, and walked to the wicker basket she had placed next to the spring. She picked it up, turned around and walked towards Trálír. He sat relaxed in front of her, his legs slightly bent and Anwyn settled down between his thighs. For a brief moment, she thought of the last time, not too long ago, when she had knelt between them and what had happened as a result. Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip and tried to ignore her quickening heartbeat as she reached into the basket and pulled out the alcohol, the marigold broth and the strips of cloth. She opened the bottle of alcohol, poured it over her hands and rubbed it in, then glanced at Trálír and looked at him promptly. He nodded, straightened up and held his hands in front of Anwyn, who soaked one of the cloth strips with alcohol and then carefully cleaned Trálír's cracked knuckles with it. Trálír breathed in and out deeply at the burning pain on his open, cracked skin. Sometimes he found cleaning a wound more painful than the moment he had inflicted it. He couldn't remember the pain when he had beaten Dolgukur, but the burning he felt now was all the more intense. Anwyn closed the bottle of alcohol, put it back in the basket and set the soaked strip of cloth aside. The next handle uncorked the bottle of marigold broth and she took another strip, which she also soaked.
“Isn't it a waste to take two strips of cloth?” Trálír asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I'm sure there will be one or two who would agree with you,” Anwyn replied as she concentrated on applying the marigold poultice to Trálír's injured skin. “Still, I think it's better to use fresh and sterile cloth for every step you need to take. I want to make sure the wound is clean and heals well,” Anwyn replied, looking down at the hands she had treated and reaching into the basket once more. Trálír grimaced as he saw her begin to wrap the strips of cloth around his injured hands.
“A bandage? Is that really necessary?”
“Only for the rest of the day and night, Trálír,” she replied in a comforting voice. “When your path leads you back to me tomorrow, I will remove the bandage and treat it with the decoction again if necessary.”
With a nod, Trálír leaned forward slightly, gripped Anwyn's chin gently and placed a kiss on her lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered with a smile and straightened up. His gaze slid to the bandages around his hands and he was impressed that despite the firm pressure of it, he could move all his fingers freely and the bandage did not hinder him. Holding the reins in his hands would not be a problem for him.
“Let's go back to the house,” Anwyn said, pointing to the west with his chin. Evening was not far off and soon her father would return from his daily work on the sea, so Anwyn did not have much time to prepare the evening meal together. Her father wouldn't be angry if the meal wasn't on the table on time, but Anwyn still had some duties to fulfill on the side and when he would come home with a successful haul of his catch, the fish had to be washed, gutted and put in the brine. Anwyn's day was not over yet and she walked hand in hand with Trálír along the wall to the courtyard entrance.
“Why didn't your path lead to the healer of your castle?” she suddenly asked into the silence and looked at Trálír questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't know,” Trálír replied hesitantly. “It didn't feel right.”
Anwyn raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I'm sure your healer has a wealth of knowledge about elven medicine,” she remarked and looked at Trálír inquiringly from the side.
“That’s almost definitely the case,” he replied and shrugged his shoulders once more. It seemed as if the elf did not want to continue this conversation, but Anwyn sensed that there was something more, something that was bothering Trálír.
“But...?” Anwyn asked in a low voice and Trálír suddenly stopped, looking at her, his gaze reserved.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Now it was Anwyn's turn to shrug her shoulders helplessly. It took a moment before she continued: “I'm just wondering, to be honest. An elven healer? Half-elves and humans would probably pay a fortune to be treated when they are ill, but you... you refuse his treatment and come to me. Why?”
“Because I believe you are the better healer,” Trálír replied, a hint of defense in his voice.
“Don't mock me,” Anwyn replied.
“Far be it from me to mock you, Anwyn. The truth is that I think you are a better healer. Yes, Theldan knows about the centuries-old elven art of healing, but that doesn't make him a really good healer. It takes more than that, such as respect for other races. But Theldan lacks that.”
“Yes, Conall mentioned it,” Anwyn confirmed, lost in thought as she remembered the half-elf's words.
“He loathes half-elves and humans and lets them feel it without a hint of a guilty conscience. I know that he only allows his true healing skills to benefit the elves. Every traveling healer treats half-elves, humans, tieflings and others better than he does. And I loathe him for that and for the fact that my father doesn't reprimand him for it but allows it without restriction.”
Anwyn fell silent and squeezed his hand tenderly, sensing the suppressed anger in her beloved's words.
“I would rather cut off my hand with an axe than go to him and get treatment.”
Anwyn shook her head and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “We won't let it come to that, will we?”
She gave Trálír a tender smile and took a first step towards the courtyard entrance. Trálír, still holding her hand, followed her silently. When Anwyn closed the gate behind him, she looked questioningly at him.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? My father would be pleased to have you here.”
“Is that so?” Trálír was surprised by her words. Should Anwyn's father really be happy to see him? Was it more than just a reluctant acceptance to tolerate his daughter's relationship?
“Yes,” she replied in a soft voice. “He wouldn't admit it, but I can see it in his face, in the interest in his gaze when you have a conversation. Since my mother passed away, it's just been him and me.”
“I would love to accept your offer, Anwyn, but unfortunately I must decline,” the elf replied sadly. With an understanding nod, Anwyn walked to the stable, placed the basket next to the door and opened it. A smile slipped across her lips as she heard Arod's joyful neighing. She patted him gently on the neck, grabbed the reins and led him out.
“Our world was very, very small, Trálír,” Anwyn said, handing him the reins of his horse. “You've opened up a whole new world to us and I think my father is enjoying it very much. To see and hear more than just the sea and the daily hard work. He enjoys listening to your words and is also grateful that you listen to his. And I thank you for that.”
Trálír cupped Anwyn's cheek as he kissed her, soft at first but growing more and more intense with time. When he stepped back and released the kiss, he managed a faint smile.
“I'm afraid I must return to Blackwater Castle, Anwyn. My father expects me to accompany him on a visit to Moonhaven on the Fourth Day before Ukthar (*Month 11) descends upon the land,” Trálír explained in an apologetic voice. “Still, I would like to spend tomorrow by your side after my duties, Anwyn.”
She smiled with a nod. “I would be very pleased to see you.”
“Well, then, I will find my way to you tomorrow. Before I accompany my father, I'll build the dovecote so we can keep in touch over the winter. And you'll get to meet Minerva.”
“Minerva?” Curiosity appeared on Anwyn's handsome face.
“My carrier pigeon,” Trálír explained with a smile and kissed the tip of Anwyn's nose. Then he reached for her hands, clasped them and pressed his lips to the warm skin.
The tip of Anwyn's nose was still tingling from the kiss as she watched Trálír swing himself into the saddle and ride off towards Blackwater Castle.
Here is the newest chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!
„We should get dressed,” Anwyn heard Trálír say. “Even if your father was able to overcome his prejudices against me, I don't want to meet him without my clothes when he comes home. I can imagine he wouldn't be very pleased about that.”
His voice sounded amused and he raised his eyes to look at Anwyn. When he noticed the young woman's tense, almost unhappy-looking face, he frowned questioningly and his gaze darkened with concern.
“Anwyn?” asked the high elf, who slowly stood up and looked at her in irritation, but Anwyn avoided his gaze, reached for her now dry undergarment and held it between her hands against her chest.
Trálír leaned forward a little and tenderly clasped her wrists while tilting his head to one side, his gaze still in consternation. He could feel the tension in her body, in her stiff wrists and see it in her shoulders, which she pushed back to give the appearance of being self-confident. Trálír could also see in her eyes that there was something unspoken between them. Something that Anwyn probably couldn't or didn't want to put into words?
He looked at her in silence, giving her the time she needed until she finally spoke to him quietly and bashfully.
“Why don't you want to sleep with me?” Anwyn asked abruptly, the look in her big brown eyes a mixture of uncertainty and dejection.
“What?”
Trálír stared at Anwyn in dismay.
“Don't you want to sleep with me, Trálír? Am I not ... enough for you?” With a tremor in her voice, Anwyn asked this question to the elf standing in front of her, whose face was characterized by bewilderment.
“No. NO!”
Anwyn's breath caught at his denial of her question and the lump that formed in her throat could not prevent her eyes from becoming moist with fear and the apprehension that Trálír was not really interested in her, that he did not find her body attractive enough to make the next move. When Trálír realized that his answer had hurt her, which he could clearly see in her expression, he quickly shook his head. “No! No, I didn't mean it like that!”
Anwyn looked to the side, depressed, biting her lips to stifle the rising sobs.
“Please, let me explain,” Trálír asked and approached her, while Anwyn held the dry undergarment in front of her breasts like a shield. But before he could address her and explain himself, Anwyn shook her head dejectedly and began to speak in a shame-filled voice.
“I ... I know that humans or half-elves who are close to each other do more than ... than just that. They explore their bodies and give themselves to each other, but ... but you don't seem to want to?”
Trálír looked at Anwyn speechlessly, trying to fathom how she had come up with the idea that he might not be interested in her.
“Don't you think I'm... pretty enough?” Anwyn asked in a halting voice and Trálír shook his head quickly. He cupped her face with his fingers and looked at her seriously as he spoke the next words to her. “Anwyn, Love. Everything in me longs to explore you, to lose myself in you. Every moment I don't spend near you is a challenge for me because I would love nothing more than to spend all my time together with you. When you’re not around me I miss your voice, your kisses, your laughter, your presence. I miss you.”
“But ... but why ...?” Anwyn asked, looking at Trálír uncertainly and finally breaking off.
“Because I want the last act between us to be something special,” the high elf explained, looking at her gently. “I want this moment to be the one you deserve. I want to worship you, to love you. I want you to be more than just a moment of lust, more than just a physical desire to be satisfied,” Trálír explained softly. Anwyn swallowed.
“And I want you to be my wife in this moment,” he added.
“What?” Anwyn stared at Trálír, stunned.
“I want you to be my wife, Anwyn,” Trálír said slowly, his voice soft but firm. “If we give each other this gift, then I want to be able to call you my wife.”
“But that will never happen, Trálír,” Anwyn replied with a heavy heart. “You will not be allowed to marry me.”
“You are more to me than an adventure, a love affair or a mistress. You are my Thiramin, Anwyn. The woman who owns my heart and you will become my wife. I will find a way.”
He smiled a little uncertainly, but Anwyn saw that every word he spoke was true.
“Only if you accept me as your husband, of course,” he continued and she saw his chest rise and fall with his words. He was nervous. Anwyn's face filled with a radiance that was in no way inferior to the sun that stood above them. Her eyes sparkled with joy, she placed her hands in his and nodded emotionally.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I want you to be my husband. But...”
“Shhhh,” Trálír interrupted Anwyn's words, shook his head slowly and kissed her tenderly. When he broke away from the long, love-filled kiss, he whispered against her lips: “I will find a way, Anwyn, I promise you that. Whatever happens, you will be the woman by my side. My wife.”
Trálír slipped into his boots and straightened up, his gaze on Anwyn who was standing only a few steps away from him on the bank of the stream, also getting dressed. The words he had spoken to her, his confession to her of how much he loved her and that she was to be his wife, made her brown eyes light up with happiness. There was no mistaking the joy on her pretty face. Her complexion looked healthy and radiant, there was a slight smile on her lips and her whole body glowed contentment. As he watched her run her hands through her curls, he quickly moved forward and grabbed her wrists. Surprised, she paused and looked at him questioningly.
“Don't,” he whispered with a soft smile.
Anwyn grimaced unhappily. “But you know that I...”
“Yes, I know,” Trálír interrupted her gently. “And I wish you could see how beautiful you are.”
A slight blush crept over Anwyn's cheeks as she heard his words.
“Don't say that,” she answered, shaking her head. “My hair looks like a magician has cast a lightning spell on me.”
“No, the lightning spells aren't that bad,” Trálír replied with a grin and laughed when Anwyn looked at him with feigned indignation.
“Well, I'll let my hair down then,” she finally conceded. “For now.”
Trálír leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, which Anwyn returned by placing her hands on his waist and looking at him lovingly.
“In return, you will now sit on the floor and finally let me treat your hands.”
Trálír gave a tragic sigh, sat down on the floor and looked up at Anwyn, who was smiling contentedly at him.
“And I thought I could have distracted you from that,” he murmured and leaned back on his hands.
“By kissing me?” Anwyn asked, amused, and walked to the wicker basket she had placed next to the spring. She picked it up, turned around and walked towards Trálír. He sat relaxed in front of her, his legs slightly bent and Anwyn settled down between his thighs. For a brief moment, she thought of the last time, not too long ago, when she had knelt between them and what had happened as a result. Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip and tried to ignore her quickening heartbeat as she reached into the basket and pulled out the alcohol, the marigold broth and the strips of cloth. She opened the bottle of alcohol, poured it over her hands and rubbed it in, then glanced at Trálír and looked at him promptly. He nodded, straightened up and held his hands in front of Anwyn, who soaked one of the cloth strips with alcohol and then carefully cleaned Trálír's cracked knuckles with it. Trálír breathed in and out deeply at the burning pain on his open, cracked skin. Sometimes he found cleaning a wound more painful than the moment he had inflicted it. He couldn't remember the pain when he had beaten Dolgukur, but the burning he felt now was all the more intense. Anwyn closed the bottle of alcohol, put it back in the basket and set the soaked strip of cloth aside. The next handle uncorked the bottle of marigold broth and she took another strip, which she also soaked.
“Isn't it a waste to take two strips of cloth?” Trálír asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I'm sure there will be one or two who would agree with you,” Anwyn replied as she concentrated on applying the marigold poultice to Trálír's injured skin. “Still, I think it's better to use fresh and sterile cloth for every step you need to take. I want to make sure the wound is clean and heals well,” Anwyn replied, looking down at the hands she had treated and reaching into the basket once more. Trálír grimaced as he saw her begin to wrap the strips of cloth around his injured hands.
“A bandage? Is that really necessary?”
“Only for the rest of the day and night, Trálír,” she replied in a comforting voice. “When your path leads you back to me tomorrow, I will remove the bandage and treat it with the decoction again if necessary.”
With a nod, Trálír leaned forward slightly, gripped Anwyn's chin gently and placed a kiss on her lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered with a smile and straightened up. His gaze slid to the bandages around his hands and he was impressed that despite the firm pressure of it, he could move all his fingers freely and the bandage did not hinder him. Holding the reins in his hands would not be a problem for him.
“Let's go back to the house,” Anwyn said, pointing to the west with his chin. Evening was not far off and soon her father would return from his daily work on the sea, so Anwyn did not have much time to prepare the evening meal together. Her father wouldn't be angry if the meal wasn't on the table on time, but Anwyn still had some duties to fulfill on the side and when he would come home with a successful haul of his catch, the fish had to be washed, gutted and put in the brine. Anwyn's day was not over yet and she walked hand in hand with Trálír along the wall to the courtyard entrance.
“Why didn't your path lead to the healer of your castle?” she suddenly asked into the silence and looked at Trálír questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't know,” Trálír replied hesitantly. “It didn't feel right.”
Anwyn raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I'm sure your healer has a wealth of knowledge about elven medicine,” she remarked and looked at Trálír inquiringly from the side.
“That’s almost definitely the case,” he replied and shrugged his shoulders once more. It seemed as if the elf did not want to continue this conversation, but Anwyn sensed that there was something more, something that was bothering Trálír.
“But...?” Anwyn asked in a low voice and Trálír suddenly stopped, looking at her, his gaze reserved.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Now it was Anwyn's turn to shrug her shoulders helplessly. It took a moment before she continued: “I'm just wondering, to be honest. An elven healer? Half-elves and humans would probably pay a fortune to be treated when they are ill, but you... you refuse his treatment and come to me. Why?”
“Because I believe you are the better healer,” Trálír replied, a hint of defense in his voice.
“Don't mock me,” Anwyn replied.
“Far be it from me to mock you, Anwyn. The truth is that I think you are a better healer. Yes, Theldan knows about the centuries-old elven art of healing, but that doesn't make him a really good healer. It takes more than that, such as respect for other races. But Theldan lacks that.”
“Yes, Conall mentioned it,” Anwyn confirmed, lost in thought as she remembered the half-elf's words.
“He loathes half-elves and humans and lets them feel it without a hint of a guilty conscience. I know that he only allows his true healing skills to benefit the elves. Every traveling healer treats half-elves, humans, tieflings and others better than he does. And I loathe him for that and for the fact that my father doesn't reprimand him for it but allows it without restriction.”
Anwyn fell silent and squeezed his hand tenderly, sensing the suppressed anger in her beloved's words.
“I would rather cut off my hand with an axe than go to him and get treatment.”
Anwyn shook her head and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “We won't let it come to that, will we?”
She gave Trálír a tender smile and took a first step towards the courtyard entrance. Trálír, still holding her hand, followed her silently. When Anwyn closed the gate behind him, she looked questioningly at him.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? My father would be pleased to have you here.”
“Is that so?” Trálír was surprised by her words. Should Anwyn's father really be happy to see him? Was it more than just a reluctant acceptance to tolerate his daughter's relationship?
“Yes,” she replied in a soft voice. “He wouldn't admit it, but I can see it in his face, in the interest in his gaze when you have a conversation. Since my mother passed away, it's just been him and me.”
“I would love to accept your offer, Anwyn, but unfortunately I must decline,” the elf replied sadly. With an understanding nod, Anwyn walked to the stable, placed the basket next to the door and opened it. A smile slipped across her lips as she heard Arod's joyful neighing. She patted him gently on the neck, grabbed the reins and led him out.
“Our world was very, very small, Trálír,” Anwyn said, handing him the reins of his horse. “You've opened up a whole new world to us and I think my father is enjoying it very much. To see and hear more than just the sea and the daily hard work. He enjoys listening to your words and is also grateful that you listen to his. And I thank you for that.”
Trálír cupped Anwyn's cheek as he kissed her, soft at first but growing more and more intense with time. When he stepped back and released the kiss, he managed a faint smile.
“I'm afraid I must return to Blackwater Castle, Anwyn. My father expects me to accompany him on a visit to Moonhaven on the Fourth Day before Ukthar (*Month 11) descends upon the land,” Trálír explained in an apologetic voice. “Still, I would like to spend tomorrow by your side after my duties, Anwyn.”
She smiled with a nod. “I would be very pleased to see you.”
“Well, then, I will find my way to you tomorrow. Before I accompany my father, I'll build the dovecote so we can keep in touch over the winter. And you'll get to meet Minerva.”
“Minerva?” Curiosity appeared on Anwyn's handsome face.
“My carrier pigeon,” Trálír explained with a smile and kissed the tip of Anwyn's nose. Then he reached for her hands, clasped them and pressed his lips to the warm skin.
The tip of Anwyn's nose was still tingling from the kiss as she watched Trálír swing himself into the saddle and ride off towards Blackwater Castle.
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