"Those small clans have yielded," Veylara stated, her voice quiet enough that it stayed between the four of them. "Salt, herbs, labor, and complete border obedience. They surrendered their independence without hesitation."
Sol slowly opened both eyes, meeting that fathomless sapphire gaze under the dappled shade of the elm.
"Nothing unexpected," he said softly, his crimson eyes gleaming with confident certainty. "No sane one would look at a mountain that just swallowed four armies and think about climbing it. They still have some brain and know who holds the sky now."
Veylara looked down at him for a long, quiet moment.
The dappled sunlight filtering through the sprawling canopy of the ancient elm dancing patterns of gold and shadow across Sol's relaxed, sun-tanned features.
The more she looked at him, the deeper that quiet, intoxicating heat coiled in her chest.
