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As Inquisitor and Commander sat in a loveseat facing the great fireplace within the former’s quarters, Esme lazily traced her fingers across the Sword of Mercy engraved into Cullen’s vambrace. The insignia now held many mixed feelings for the Inquisitor, marking both loss and triumph, memories that stalked her nightmares and memories that she looked upon with fondness. The man upon whom she rested her head was one of the better associations she held with the symbol.
“You should wear your hair down more,” Cullen eventually murmured, running his bare fingers through her tight curls. “It’s beautiful, just like you.”
“Then you should wear your hair cream less,” she teased, glancing up at him as her cheeks warmed. “But…could you say it again?”
“You should wear your hair down more?” he questioned, arching one brow in confusion.
“No, the other thing.”
Cullen shifted a little and Esme sat up fully, turning a little to face him better. A small smile played at lips as he looked her over.
“You’re beautiful?”
She nodded a little, cheeks growing warmer. “I love it when you say that.”
“I only speak the truth.”
“My family would like to differ.”
Cullen shook his head, and cupped her cheek with one of his hands. “To the Void with your family. They’re all fools if they cannot see what is so plainly obvious.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”
“Again?”
He chuckled, and now planted a kiss on her cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
“Cullen?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Just say it, once more.”
He let out one more soft laugh, and kissed her on the lips. When he pulled away, he pressed their foreheads together and his golden gaze met her stormy one. “You’re beautiful, Esme Trevelyan. And I love you so much.”