The rear workroom of Maison Reverie was considerably larger than the private fitting chambers near the main salon, its high ceiling crossed by exposed beams and its broad floor kept clear so several tailors could work around ceremonial gowns, military cloaks, and unusually large commissions. Long tables occupied the walls beneath shelves of folded fabric, while articulated mirrors stood upon wheeled frames that could be repositioned around a client without requiring him to turn. After Valdor’s shoulders destroyed the first shirt and his sudden confrontation with Alphonsins nearly finished the temporary trousers as well, Master Edric had apparently decided that unrestricted space was no longer a luxury but a necessity.
Amor settled into a cushioned chair near one of the worktables, carefully arranging the flowing tails of his lavender-gray coat around his legs. The position offered him an unobstructed view of the raised fitting platform in the center of the room, though he pretended that this convenience held no particular significance. A young attendant placed a porcelain tray beside him containing tea, fruit-glazed biscuits, honeyed nuts, and several small cakes brought from the tailor’s private receiving room. Valdor remained upon the platform in the disastrously strained trousers.
Master Edric circled him with a measuring ribbon, charcoal pencil, and the intensity of a scholar documenting a newly discovered species. Three assistants followed in his wake, calling out measurements, recording alterations, and holding lengths of fabric against Valdor’s body to examine how each material behaved beside the black markings. The warrior endured the activity with remarkable discipline, though his eyes returned to Amor whenever the tailor instructed him to change position.
"Raise both arms."
Master Edric ordered. Valdor obeyed.
The movement lifted his enormous arms above his head and drew every muscle of his torso into sharper definition. His broad chest expanded, the dark markings stretching across it as the dense muscles beneath his skin shifted, while the ridged lines of his abdomen lengthened toward the waistband sitting precariously low around his hips. Amor lifted his teacup and stared very carefully into it.
"Turn to the left."
Master Edric said. Valdor turned.
His profile revealed the powerful depth of his chest and the hard line descending from ribs to waist, while his back narrowed only slightly beneath shoulders thick enough to make even the spacious room seem smaller. Pale scars crossed the caramel skin beneath one shoulder blade, interrupted by tribal patterns that followed the natural lines of muscle. Amor took a slow sip of tea without tasting it.
"Now face away from me."
Valdor turned his back. Amor nearly inhaled tea.
The warrior’s back was every bit as unfairly constructed as the rest of him, broad across the shoulders and carved by deep lines of muscle that shifted whenever he adjusted his arms. The dark markings spread across the living landscape like ceremonial ink laid over stone, disappearing briefly beneath the low waistband before continuing along the powerful curves of his hips. His thighs strained the temporary trousers so dramatically that Amor began to suspect the fabric was surviving only through fear. He lowered his teacup before his hand betrayed him.
Master Edric instructed Valdor to widen his stance so the assistants could measure the distance across his shoulders without the tape slipping. The resulting position emphasized the formidable solidity of his legs and the heavy masculine proportions restrained beneath the overburdened cloth. Amor looked toward the plate of pastries with sudden concentration.
He selected a honeyed nut. Then another.
The food provided something harmless for his hands to do while his mind stored every visual detail for later inspection in private, preferably after the household had retired and no one could witness the direction of his thoughts. He memorized the exact shape of Valdor’s shoulders, the way the markings disappeared beneath the waistband, and the faint tension of muscle along his abdomen whenever the tailor’s cold ribbon touched him. Amor had no immediate intention of doing anything improper with those memories, though the fact that he needed to tell himself so suggested the denial lacked strength.
"Extend your right leg now."
Master Edric instructed. Valdor did. The seam near his thigh released a warning sound.
Every tailor in the room froze.
Valdor looked down. Master Edric pressed one hand dramatically to his heart.
"Do not move!"
"I was told to move."
"You have moved enough!"
Amor covered his mouth with his teacup, though a laugh escaped around its rim. Valdor’s gaze shifted toward him immediately, catching the amusement softening his pink eyes. Something warm entered the warrior’s expression.
"The pants are weak."
Valdor said.
"They were constructed for men whose thighs do not threaten architecture."
Master Edric replied. One assistant hurried forward and reinforced the endangered seam with several temporary pins, though the young man’s hands trembled as he worked beside the enormous warrior. Valdor remained completely still, apparently unaware that the tailor had assigned the task to the only assistant brave enough to kneel within reach of the strained fabric. Amor watched for several seconds before his gaze drifted upward again.
Valdor caught him. Their eyes met across the workroom.
Amor turned toward the sweet tray with studied indifference, selecting a tiny fruit cake he had not previously wanted. The warrior continued watching him. Amor could feel the attention even after lowering his gaze. Valdor had spent enough time studying Amor to recognize concealment.
The delicate nobleman’s expression remained composed, but his pink eyes repeatedly traveled toward Valdor whenever he believed himself unobserved. Each glance moved across the warrior’s shoulders, chest, abdomen, and legs before retreating toward the tea or pastries. Amor’s cheeks also carried a faint warmth unrelated to illness, and Valdor had recently learned what that particular color meant. He wondered whether Amor found his body appealing.
Amor had already admitted finding his rough hands far too attractive, an answer Valdor had carried with private satisfaction throughout the carriage ride. The possibility that Amor’s interest extended beyond his hands stirred a deeper heat, though Valdor lacked the elaborate modesty that would have prevented him from asking directly. He opened his mouth. Master Edric interrupted him.
"These..."
The tailor declared, signaling to two assistants waiting beside the far table.
"Are ready for the first fitting."
The assistants approached carrying a substantial stack of garments folded over their arms. Valdor looked from the clothing to Master Edric.
"You made them now?"
"We began the moment Lord Amor approved a basic concept."
Master Edric replied.
"We have been here a short time."
The tailor puffed out his narrow chest.
"You are standing within Maison Reverie, not some village seamstress’s living room. My team can create an initial fitted ensemble before lesser establishments finish debating which thread to use."
One assistant nodded proudly, though exhaustion beneath her eyes suggested the accomplishment had required an almost violent level of effort. Another carried several discarded practice panels containing split seams and snapped cords, evidence that Master Edric’s first attempts had not been entirely triumphant. The final clothing appeared intact, however, and the fabrics already hinted at a design unlike anything displayed within the main salon. Master Edric lifted the first piece.
It was a pair of fitted trousers constructed from dark charcoal cloth reinforced with flexible black leather along the outer thighs, hips, and knees. Unlike the unfortunate stock trousers currently clinging to Valdor’s body, the new garment had been cut generously enough to accommodate his proportions without disguising them, tapering into fitted calves intended to slide beneath tall boots. Fine silver stitching followed geometric lines near the hips without copying the sacred marks upon Valdor’s skin.
"The panels stretch..."
Master Edric explained.
"The seams are doubled, the inner thighs reinforced, and the knee sections divided so you may crouch, run, or commit additional crimes against the royal family without exposing yourself."
Amor choked lightly on his cake. Valdor accepted the trousers.
"Good."
Master Edric placed a second garment above them.
The upper layer resembled neither a kingdom coat nor a traditional Blackstone wrap, but something between a desert warrior’s robe and an adventurer’s ceremonial armor. Long bands of deep black and burnished bronze fabric crossed diagonally over one side of the torso, secured at the waist by a wide leather belt, while the other side remained deliberately open to reveal Valdor’s markings from shoulder to ribs. The material fell in layered panels from his hips, moving like shortened robes over the fitted trousers without obstructing his legs.
A separate sleeveless mantle completed the design. Its high collar framed the back of Valdor’s neck, while the front opened broadly across his chest and fastened beneath one shoulder with a polished clasp carved to resemble mountain glass. Dark fur edged the collar and descended along one side, preserving a visible connection to Blackstone clothing without overwhelming the refined fabrics beneath it. Several carefully positioned openings followed the lines of Valdor’s markings, revealing skin in deliberate sections rather than leaving him simply uncovered.
Amor stared despite himself.
The ensemble looked exotic enough to honor Valdor’s origins, yet structured enough to belong within the capital’s finest establishments. It evoked an ancient desert prince, a wandering elven warlord, and a northern adventurer elevated to nobility without being stripped of anything wild. Master Edric had not transformed Valdor into a kingdom gentleman. He had translated him.
"There are arm wraps as well..."
Master Edric continued, displaying wide bands of black leather and soft bronze cloth designed to encircle Valdor’s forearms while leaving the central family markings visible.
"The boots are still being adjusted, but we have temporary ones in the workroom. A longer cloak may be completed before evening if the embroiderers survive."
Valdor examined the garments. He touched the fur along the mantle first, testing its quality between thick fingers, then pulled lightly at the reinforced seams of the trousers. His expression remained reserved, though the absence of immediate criticism seemed to satisfy Master Edric. The tailor pointed toward a large dressing screen positioned in the far corner.
"Go change..."
He ordered.
"Remove those pitiful trousers before they surrender and destroy the dignity of my entire staff."
Valdor looked toward Amor. Amor lifted one brow.
"Do not expect me to defend the current trousers. They have suffered enough."
The warrior gathered the new clothes and disappeared behind the screen. Several assistants followed to provide help, though Valdor stopped them with one look and insisted he could dress himself. They retreated reluctantly, remaining nearby in case the unfamiliar clasps required explanation. The shadow visible through the thick screen shifted as Valdor removed the temporary garment.
Amor’s imagination responded far too efficiently. He reached for another pastry.
A shop attendant poured fresh tea before he could empty the plate entirely, offering him small lemon cakes dusted with sugar and thin biscuits filled with berry cream. Amor thanked her and selected one, though his attention remained divided between the sweet flavor and the movement behind the screen. Fabric rustled, leather straps tightened, and Master Edric occasionally called instructions concerning which panel crossed first.
Amor forced himself to look toward the additional sketches Master Edric made while in the workroom. The charcoal lines depicted broad silhouettes with open collars, layered belts, and asymmetrical robes. Now that he had seen Valdor’s body beside the fabrics, the designs seemed almost embarrassingly transparent in their intention. Every opening had been positioned to emphasize a line Amor found appealing.
He wondered whether Master Edric had noticed.
The tailor almost certainly had. Master Edric lived by observing how clothing changed the way people were seen, and Amor had personally selected which portions of Valdor should remain uncovered. The neckline framed his chest because Amor liked the markings there. The side opening exposed his ribs and waist because Amor had rejected every sketch that concealed them. Heat returned to his cheeks.
Master Edric approached the refreshment table, carrying several altered sketches beneath one arm.
"Young Lord..."
He said, lowering his voice.
"Regarding the earlier disturbance—"
"I apologize."
The reply came before the tailor could finish. Amor set down his cup and straightened, the humor leaving his expression beneath genuine concern.
"Our presence brought a private conflict into your shop, disrupted your clients, and placed you at risk of retaliation from a royal duke. House Moons will compensate you for any lost business, damaged property, canceled commissions, or political difficulty resulting from what occurred."
Master Edric waved one slender hand.
"Pah! Don’t worry about it. There was no significant damage."
"Duke Alphonsins Solaris was thrown onto your floor."
"The carpet will recover. His dignity however...."
"Yes, he may not. What if he claims he was injured in your shop?"
"That is a matter for his physician. My store was merely a casualty."
Amor’s mouth threatened to curve, though worry prevented full amusement.
"He is the king’s nephew, Edric. Even if he does not retaliate openly, he could discourage royal commissions or pressure clients to avoid your establishment."
Master Edric looked toward the closed doors leading to the salon.
"Half the clients outside have already requested appointments after witnessing Lord Valdor emerge from the workroom..."
He said.
"Three gentlemen wish to commission whatever open-chested formalwear I am making for him, though none possess the physical justification for it, and Lady Armina Bellrose has asked whether I can design an ensemble for her personal guard..."
Amor blinked.
"The scandal will bring more business than it costs..."
The tailor continued.
"That is how the capital works."
"Until the duke demands otherwise."
"Then I will remind the court that my assistants witnessed him seize an injured nobleman after being told not to..."
Master Edric’s tone sharpened. The tailor served powerful people and understood when neutrality became cowardice.
"You did not attack him, Young Lord, and Lord Valdor acted only when the duke grabbed you. If Alphonsins attempts to punish this shop for witnessing his behavior, he will create a far more damaging story than the one already spreading."
Amor looked down. His fingers moved unconsciously toward the bandage beneath his silk sleeve. The wrist had begun throbbing again, a dull tenderness awakened where Alphonsins’s grip compressed the healing bruises. Valdor’s ointment had reduced the original swelling, but the duke’s fingers had landed with enough pressure to remind Amor how easily healing could be reversed. His thumb brushed the hidden marks through the cloth.
Master Edric noticed. His eyes narrowed. The tailor’s earlier humor faded as his attention settled upon the guarded movement. He had dressed Amor for years, watched him experiment with beauty and scandal, and learned to recognize which gestures belonged to performance and which escaped unconsciously. The way Amor protected his wrist now held no vanity.
"Did the duke cause that injury before today?"
Master Edric asked. Amor’s hand stopped. He looked up.
The question was too perceptive and too direct, particularly from someone who had always respected the boundary between Amor’s clothing and his private affairs. Master Edric’s expression carried no gossiping excitement, only quiet concern. Amor considered lying.
"Yes."
He admitted. The tailor inhaled slowly. His gaze moved toward the workroom doors as though reconsidering whether Alphonsins’s fall had been sufficient.
"Then Lord Valdor recognized him as the doer?"
"Immediately."
"Hm, I wonder how?"
"He watched the way Alphonsins reached..."
Master Edric became quiet. Amor brushed the edge of the bandage again.
"Valdor saw the bruises yesterday, though I refused to say who left them. Today, Alphonsins used the same hand, reached for the same place, and behaved as though he expected no resistance."
"And your barbarian understood just from that?"
Amor looked toward the dressing screen.
"Yes."
There was more warmth in the answer than the subject should have allowed. Master Edric followed his gaze.
The tailor had observed Amor with previous lovers, including Alphonsins, and recognized the carefully cultivated displays Amor used when trying to secure affection. He had designed outfits intended to capture the duke’s attention, only to watch Alphonsins barely glance at them before criticizing Amor for seeking admiration. The young lord had always pursued while pretending pursuit itself was power.
With Valdor, everything appeared reversed. The warrior sought Amor’s gaze constantly, while Amor behaved as though being seen too clearly might undo him. He had chosen clothing to frame Valdor’s body, defended his honor, and now sat near the dressing screen with barely concealed anticipation. Yet none of the behavior carried desperation.
"You appear to be fond of him."
Master Edric observed. Amor’s pink eyes sharpened.
"We have known each other for two days."
"Oh? That was not a denial."
"It was context!"
"Context does not prevent fondness, Young Lord."
Amor lifted his teacup.
"Careful now. You have become overly conversational."
"I have spent the morning measuring a man whose shoulders exceed the width of my first cutting table. Ordinary decorum has already abandoned us."
The dressing screen shifted. Amor’s attention snapped toward it. Master Edric noticed and smiled.
Before he could ask the more dangerous question regarding Amor’s true relationship with Valdor, one assistant emerged from behind the screen carrying the discarded temporary trousers. The seam along one thigh had finally split during removal. He held the ruined garment at arm’s length as though it had died honorably in service.
"He’s ready."
He announced. Master Edric straightened with immediate professional pride. The assistant pulled the screen aside. Valdor stepped out.
The room lost its breath.
The new clothing altered him without diminishing anything essential. The charcoal trousers fit closely enough to emphasize the formidable shape of his legs while granting them enough space to move, reinforced leather panels drawing attention toward the powerful thighs rather than appearing strained by them. Tall black boots wrapped around his calves and stopped beneath the knee, their bronze fastenings echoing the beads and teeth woven through his dark hair. The layered robe panels fell from his waist in asymmetrical lengths, moving around his body like strips of shadow whenever he walked.
The upper garments created an even more dramatic effect. A wide bronze-and-black sash wrapped across one side of his abdomen before disappearing beneath a dark leather belt set low along his hips. The diagonal cloth crossed part of his chest but left the opposite side exposed from collarbone to waist, revealing black markings that followed the dense muscle beneath them. A carefully shaped opening along the covered side displayed another line of ink over his ribs, transforming what might have appeared accidental in his furs into deliberate artistry.
The sleeveless mantle rested upon his shoulders like a noble cloak redesigned for a warrior. Dark fur framed the back of his neck and one shoulder, preserving the rugged weight of Blackstone tradition, while the other side remained open and secured by a carved silver-black clasp. The high collar made his throat appear stronger, and the flowing back panels lengthened his already imposing silhouette without restricting his arms. Narrow embroidered lines echoed the angular rhythm of his tribal markings but never copied their sacred shapes.
His arms remained bare. The new leather wraps circled his forearms in layered bands, leaving the linked diamonds representing his mother’s children fully visible. Fine bronze cords crossed between the leather sections, while small pieces of polished mountain-colored glass had been incorporated near the wrists. His hands, still rough and calloused, appeared even more striking beneath the refined craftsmanship surrounding them.
The outfit made Valdor look tamed only at first glance. A second look revealed that nothing wild had actually been subdued. The elegant fabric merely sharpened the danger rather than concealing it, giving the impression of a mountain warlord who had entered noble society voluntarily and might leave the instant it bored him. He looked capable of sitting beside princes, leading adventurers into monster territory, or standing upon an ancient desert throne with a curved blade across his lap.
The room remained silent.
Even the assistants who created the outfit stared as though seeing the finished effect for the first time. Master Edric’s face transformed into triumph.
"I am a genius."
He whispered. No one contradicted him. Amor could not. He had forgotten the pastry in his hand.
His pink eyes moved slowly from Valdor’s boots to the layered robes, following the fit over the warrior’s thighs and hips before climbing toward the open sections framing his abdomen. The black markings seemed darker against the charcoal and bronze, every line deliberately emphasized rather than treated as something foreign requiring concealment. His gaze reached Valdor’s chest and stopped.
The warrior’s proportions had been unfair while nearly naked. Clothed with intention, they became devastating.
The structured mantle broadened his shoulders further, while the open front displayed enough skin to preserve the raw masculine appeal Amor had privately admired throughout the fitting. The combination of refinement and wildness made Valdor appear less like a guest being adapted to the kingdom and more like the ruler of a different world who had allowed kingdom craftsmen to acknowledge him properly. Amor could imagine every person in the main salon staring.
He could also imagine far less respectable circumstances involving the layered belt. His face warmed. Valdor saw it immediately.
He stood upon the center of the workroom, surrounded by mirrors that reflected him from every angle, yet he cared nothing for his own image or the astonishment of the staff. His obsidian gaze found Amor and remained there. The warrior’s posture held a faint uncertainty that no one else would have recognized.
He wanted Amor’s opinion.
Master Edric hurried around him, adjusting one hanging panel and smoothing the dark fur along his shoulder.
"Observe the balance between cultured structure and tribal authority. The open sections preserve his markings, the layered robes create movement without hiding the legs, and the reinforced cloth allows him to bend, fight, climb, or throw additional dukes with minimal damage. Genius! Simply genius! I am a God of fabrics!"
Valdor ignored him. His eyes remained upon Amor. Master Edric stepped back and spread both arms toward his creation.
"Maison Reverie has once again surpassed the limitations of mortal craft!"
No one responded. The tailor looked toward Amor. Valdor did the same, though his interest carried far greater weight.
"Does it please you?"
He asked. The direct question broke Amor’s trance.
He blinked, becoming suddenly aware that every person in the workroom had turned toward him. The half-eaten pastry remained suspended near his lap, and his gaze had apparently lingered long enough to make denial impossible. He placed the sweet upon its plate with exaggerated care.
"The workmanship is excellent."
Amor said. Master Edric looked offended.
"Excellent?"
"It is remarkable!"
Amor amended. The tailor appeared slightly appeased. Valdor did not. He took one slow step closer.
"The clothing."
Amor looked up.
"What about it?"
"You chose it."
"I approved the designs, so yes. I suppose I did choose it."
"Do you like how I look?"
There was no escape within the question. Valdor spoke with the same sincerity that continually stripped Amor of practiced confidence, asking not whether the garment fit kingdom standards or whether Master Edric’s work deserved praise. He wanted to know whether Amor found him appealing. The distinction sent warmth rushing through Amor’s cheeks.
Master Edric subtly signaled the assistants to step away. None moved far enough to miss the answer. Amor rose from the chair.
His flowing coat settled around him as he approached Valdor, using movement to gather the fragments of composure scattered by the warrior’s appearance. The height difference became even more dramatic now that Valdor wore structured boots and the mantle emphasized his stature. Amor stopped close enough to inspect the stitching along his waist.
He touched the edge of the diagonal sash. Valdor’s breathing deepened.
The fabric felt smooth and expensive beneath Amor’s fingers, while the heat of the body beneath it traveled easily through the thin layer. Amor followed the line toward the open section at Valdor’s side, then rested his hand lightly against the exposed marking above his ribs. The warrior became completely still.
"It suits you."
Amor said. Valdor waited. Amor knew the answer was inadequate. He lifted his gaze.
The obsidian eyes looking down at him carried no vanity, only patient hope from a man whose opinion of himself had been unsettled by the capital’s stares. Valdor did not need flattery designed to inflate pride. He wanted confirmation that Amor still saw what had attracted him beneath the furs.
"You look..."
Amor began. His practiced language failed him.
Beautiful seemed too soft, while handsome belonged to polished noblemen whose greatest hardship involved poorly tied cravats. Powerful was accurate but incomplete, because the clothing had revealed elegance Valdor had never been taught to display. Amor’s fingers remained against the marking on his ribs.
"You look magnificent..."
He said at last.
Valdor’s shoulders relaxed. Amor continued before embarrassment could stop him.
"The clothing makes you appear refined without making you look as though you are pretending to be someone else. It frames your markings, emphasizes your strength, and preserves everything I found excessively appealing before Master Edric began interfering."
Master Edric gasped.
"Interfering?"
"You know what I mean."
Valdor’s eyes warmed.
"Everything?"
He asked.
Amor realized the trap too late. The warrior’s gaze lowered toward the hand resting against his side, then returned to Amor’s flushed face. The implication was unmistakable:
Amor had admitted finding more than Valdor’s hands appealing. Every private glance during the measurements had apparently been noticed. Amor withdrew his fingers.
"I was speaking generally!"
"You looked specifically."
Master Edric turned away to conceal a smile. Amor lifted his chin.
"A tailor fitting requires observation."
"You were not measuring me."
"I was supervising!"
"You ate five pastries while supervising."
"That is irrelevant!"
Valdor’s scarred mouth curved. The smile remained small, but the effect transformed his severe face enough to draw another helpless stare from Amor. The refined clothes, exposed markings, and rare amusement created a vision so thoroughly tailored to Amor’s weaknesses that he briefly wondered whether Master Edric had designed the expression as well. He opened his fan to hide the lower half of his face. Valdor reached toward it. He stopped before touching.
"May I?"
He asked. Amor’s eyes softened. He lowered the fan himself. Valdor examined his exposed expression—the deep color across his cheeks, the reluctant smile, and the pink eyes that had already answered more honestly than his words. Satisfaction spread through the warrior with visible warmth. Amor had not merely approved of the clothes. He approved of Valdor within them.
"You like it?"
Valdor said.
"Yes."
Amor admitted.
"And my body."
The assistants collectively stopped breathing. Amor’s face became crimson.
"You have grown intolerably bold!"
"Your face says honesty was good."
"Your honesty is difficult!"
"You find my body appealing or not?"
Amor looked toward Master Edric as though seeking rescue. The tailor studied a sketch with fraudulent concentration. No assistance came.
Amor turned back toward Valdor, whose expression held no mockery despite the bluntness of the question. The warrior simply wished to know, and refusing after having stared so openly would make Amor appear cowardly. He could tolerate embarrassment more easily than dishonesty.
"Yes..."
Amor said, lowering his voice.
"I find it excessively appealing."
Valdor’s eyes darkened. The room suddenly felt warmer. Amor raised one finger before the warrior could respond.
"That confession does not grant you permission to become smug!"
"I am not smug."
"You look smug!"
"I am pleased."
"That is dangerously similar!"
Valdor looked down at the outfit again, though his satisfaction remained directed entirely toward Amor’s reaction.
"Then I will wear it."
Master Edric placed one hand over his heart.
"You will do more than wear it! You will redefine every expectation this city possesses regarding masculine formalwear. Haah, my own brilliance scares me sometimes! It’s genius, too genius."
Valdor’s gaze remained upon Amor.
"If Amor likes it."
The simple condition softened the embarrassment within him. Amor looked once more over the layered furs, open robes, and dark fabrics framing Valdor’s markings, allowing himself to admire without immediately retreating. The warrior appeared at once noble and untamed, perfectly suited to neither world because the design belonged specifically to him. That individuality mattered more than fitting comfortably within the capital’s judgment.
"Mm, I like it..."
Amor said.
"Very much."
Valdor touched one fist to his chest, though the gesture carried more intimacy than formality when offered solely to Amor.
Master Edric immediately began issuing instructions for additional versions in black, deep green, bronze, and midnight blue. Assistants scattered toward the fabric shelves, invigorated by the success of the first fitting, while Amor returned to his chair and selected another sweet to recover. His gaze drifted back toward Valdor before he had taken the first bite.
The warrior caught him again.
This time, Amor did not look away.