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    Summary

    "Only when I breathe," Donnel rumbled, a low laugh escaping him. "But worth it, Your Grace. Every blow, every ache. Now, about my reward..." He leaned in, his breath warm against Aerion’s ear, the scent of sweat and triumph intoxicating. "You promised me more than a kiss, didn't you? A proper favour. Something to truly celebrate this victory."

    Aerion’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew what was coming. He had known since Donnel had first asked for his favour. "And where, pray tell, do you intend to claim this 'reward,' Ser Donnel? Here, in the open? Are you mad?"

    or what happens in the alley after the tournament is nobody's business but theirs

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