“You can’t keep buying me things,” she protests, but there’s less conviction in her voice now.
I just keep strolling along, not bothering to reply.
By the time we’ve made a circuit of the vendors, my arms are full of packages—the hair ribbons, the wooden cat, the soap, a small pot of honey, a pair of soft, leather gloves, and a necklace with a pendant that caught the lantern light and made her stare.
Astra is flushed and wide-eyed, looking overwhelmed but not unhappy. “This is too much.”
“This is nothing.”
And it is. The amount I’ve spent tonight wouldn’t buy a decent sword in the capital. But watching my mate discover what it feels like to want something and have it given to her freely? That’s priceless.
“Come on,” I tell her, shifting all the packages to one arm so I can take her h
