Lion Head Mesa [m] signet

This she was not expecting. To be the one handled in such a way — and he was purposeful at first, moving her; then delicate, as he moved the water and perfumed her with the sage. Nazli had never experienced such care before; she was receptive to it, and addled by it, and so for a time she did not move unless he moved her, and found the comfort of his presence at-odds with how cold the water felt.

A piece of her wanted to be guarded. She felt small, always; as much for her station in life as for her youth, and she knew the man was the opposite: he was divinity at the very least, and she knew from her lessons that she should not be afraid. The trepidation was the last piece of who Nazli was — and this god, this man, this king, knew exactly how to cleanse her of it.