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pride
"What am I then, just kisses in the corner?" Thayet laughs as George pulls her against his chest, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist. "Even thieves have their pride."
She presses her palms against his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his nose. "A baron now, and I've heard that they don't have any pride at all."
"Have you now?" he asks. "Well, who am I to argue with a queen?"
He tilts her face up to his kiss, and Thayet wakes with a gasp, pressing her fingers to her lips as if they would be warm from an invisible touch.
Jonathan rolls over, knee pressing against her thigh and Thayet remembers where she is, who she's with, who she is.
Nightmares, she tells herself, but as she pulls the blankets up to her chin, she knows she means dreams.
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