Valeria's glare travelled from Lucavion's face to the hand still resting against her cheek, and although every sensible instinct suggested that he release her before the situation deteriorated, his fingers lingered long enough to register an unexpected softness beneath them.
It was strange. Valeria trained with the discipline of someone who regarded a missed morning as a personal failure; the evidence lay across her entire figure, from the strength held within her shoulders to the controlled balance of her legs and the way every movement began from a posture prepared to produce force.
Even while walking, she carried the compact readiness of a knight who might be required to draw her sword before completing the next step. Her cheek, however, had apparently received an exemption from House Olarion's training principles. It yielded warmly between his fingers, soft enough that Lucavion found himself wondering how something so poorly defended had survived this close to the rest of her.
