She listened, quiet, eyes on him. Slid the second gauntlet under her arm to join the first, leading him around a corner into a narrower hallway, clearly lined with smaller rooms. She nudged a narrow door left half-ajar open with her shoulder, shooting a helpless smile back at him over her shoulder. Used the sleeve of her other arm to rub the faint tracks of earlier tears away.

"Obligation, you fanged fool," she murmured, warmly, and drew him to follow her, skin touching skin now that she'd removed the metal claws. The room was large, without windows, monkishly plain. A luxuriously plush-looking bed, small secretary littered with a few papers and what looked like a thick personal journal, a few low bookshelves crowned here and there with what were clearly personal errata. A jagged, fire-warped red shard of something, a strange, small jasper figurine that looked like a bird with too many wings—

"Sit down," she said, pointing to the bed with her elbow, half-throwing the gauntlets atop what covered the desk. "You always talk to me as if you want to give me the world; is it so wrong to be grateful when you do? To want to give in kind, if I had the faintest idea how?"

She knelt before him, working greaves and boots free.