A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. “We should get out of here. Charming girl. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. “You may not leave. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Last week. didn’t have to. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. You know—if you want freedom.
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