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Summary
“Tell me what you want,” Minthara whispers, sharing in Veldrin’s hot, panting breaths. To her delight, Veldrin’s hands have not strayed from the altar.
“Besides ten thousand gold pieces and free brain surgery?”
Minthara almost bites Veldrin’s lip as punishment, but something tells her to wait. Perhaps it’s the upward tremor at the end of Veldrin’s joke, or the light scratch of her nails against stone as she grips the altar.
“You. I want you, Ilharess.”