Page 26 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kallias

B lack leather armor gleamed on the Threshers at every turn, their presence an unshakable force. It was an irritation I couldn’t ignore—an itch out of reach. Though I wasn’t surprised, the sight still set my teeth on edge.

More often than not, they lingered in the shadows, barely a whisper—rumors of dark men, lurking like monsters that only came out after dusk. Since the assassination attempt on Nienna, they swarmed in numbers I never expected. Darius had far more of them under his command than I realized.

Apparently, the war was a perfect time for vows of vengeance to be traded for strength.

Threshers gave themselves to Radaan, to Nyryn, God of Vengeance. If they were chosen, the priests would mark them, branding their devotion in exchange for whatever their hearts desired. In return, they served the kingdom as lifelong soldiers, bound by the oath they swore.

Much like the Harvesters.

The thought of those assassins sent a cold shiver through me. Fallione handled their guild master, and I trusted his word that they had no part in Nienna’s attack. As king, I learned to keep my distance from them.

Too many eyes would watch if we so much as exchanged words. If people started turning up with blades in their backs, fingers would point in my direction. Radaan’s assassins had to remain a secret.

The walk to the temple was doing nothing to ease my irritation .

We still had no answers. I’d seen the bodies. The wounds. Radaanian, all of them. Field workers with tan lines etched across their knees and shoulders. Farmers. But their skill—too refined for simple laborers.

Sources confirmed their weapons came from a blacksmith in Reem. They arrived with a shipment of wheat, disguised as commoners.

Deception clung to me, heavy as stone, pressing down on my chest. I had every right to demand the truth. Nienna’s attack was a personal insult, having happened within my walls. I frothed at the mouth, desperate for resolution.

But this couldn’t be rushed. I had to trust my people to do their jobs. To drop everything and march north demanding results wasn’t an option.

Nienna’s broken form wreaked havoc on my thoughts—how she shattered in my arms like a wave crashing against the shore. Her body trembled, as though I were the only thing keeping her grounded in the chaos of her own emotions.

She didn’t deserve this.

If I knew who orchestrated the attack, I would have made some reckless decisions that night. Ignorance, in its bitter way, kept me grounded.

I had guided her to her chambers, cursing the distance between us. The thought that she couldn’t be in my rooms ate at me. Despite the Thresher guarding her door, she was still too far—too unreachable. Even within my halls, if she needed me, I wouldn’t reach her in time.

I was the king—the father of her betrothed.

Gods, I was a mess. No matter how often I reminded myself of my role, reason slipped away whenever she was near.

When she set fire to her maid’s body, much to the chagrin of the staff, all I could do was stand at a distance—caught between chasing Darius and Fallione for answers, and struggling not to race to her side like a fool.

Somehow, I kept the mask of a king, watching her tears mingle with the rising smoke.

Radaan would need to adjust to their way of burial. We returned our dead to the earth, nourishing the soil for the next generation. Draconis, however, burned their bodies or sent them to the sea—sky or abyss.

I stepped into the cool shadows of Elohios’ temple, knowing Radaan’s people would struggle with the idea that Nienna didn’t worship their gods. Greaves followed me, his presence a silent weight as he helped remove the heavy mantle from my shoulders. His gaze flicked to mine, a furrow between his brows. Then, without a word, he placed it on the altar and retreated.

Nienna didn’t worship Radaan’s gods, but she respected them. That thought tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I allowed myself a small, fleeting smile as I retrieved a rug, kneeling upon it. She was willing to embrace our traditions, to make them her own.

She would be a fine queen .

A chilled breeze swept over my shoulders. I closed my eyes, seeking the quiet place between myself and my god.

Elohios. Father of Justice and Truth .

The tightness in my chest loosened, and I exhaled. He was listening today.

Forgive me.

Nienna’s face came to my mind. I shoved the thought away, focusing instead on my prayer. Give me strength to resist temptation.

My heart twisted painfully. I winced, eyes snapping open to focus on the crimson cloth beneath my knees.

Was that his disapproval? A rebuke for lusting after my son’s future wife?

Guide me. I tried again, but silence stretched. The wind died, leaving the space still. Had he abandoned me once more?

Elohios, deliverer of answers, grant me wisdom. The breeze returned, this time carrying the faint scent of lavender. He was answering me today—our connection restored.

I straightened, bracing myself. Help me. Show me who would so brazenly attack your servant. I devoted my life to the god, serving with honesty and justice. I never faltered—except when it came to Eldeiade and now to Nienna.

The bridge of my nose cracked. I recoiled, pressing against the sharp sting. A trickle of liquid ran down my nostril.

Blood.

I wiped it away, watching as it stained my fingers. The crimson spread, dripping over my lips. Was this an answer? Or another rebuke? Had I asked too much, pushing Elohios to remind me of my place?

Had he grown so angry with me that he could no longer ignore me? Or was this a sign—my own blood?

Tallon.

I frowned, and Greaves’ heavy footsteps grew closer, his unease palpable.

The prince didn’t have the capacity to hire assassins in the palace without me knowing. He would have used the Harvesters, who would’ve reported his request to me.

“Your Majesty?” Greaves rumbled from behind.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, scowling at the crimson still dripping down my face. I wasn’t ready to move, not yet—not if this was a sign from my god.

“The answer is blood,” I muttered, focusing on the mantle above the altar.

Did it mean mine was to be spilled? Was I the intended target, or was it a consequence of another war with the Velli?

Egath.

Horror gripped my chest. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to remain calm. The urge to blame Vellos was strong, but I had to be cautious. To accuse them without proof would make me seem paranoid, eager to plunge my kingdom into war.

Greaves shifted, his leather armor creaking—a subtle signal that he needed an explanation.

Thank you.

I bowed before the statue of Elohios and stood, meeting Greaves’ questioning gaze as he helped replace the mantle. My mouth was dry, and I wasn’t about to share my thoughts with him here, not now.

A drift of feminine voices reached me on the wind. The cadence almost sounded like Nienna.

She hadn’t shied away from her duty or Radaan’s people, but court was wearing her thin. I saw it in the furrow of her brow, the way her gaze often drifted, distant and tired. The loss of her maid only added to her burden.

The thought of Claydon’s mountain manor gnawed at me. Perhaps an escape from the palace would offer her respite, but there was also risk. She didn’t know Clay as I did, and around him, she would feel the need to wear her mask. She might not relax. And if Egath was there…

I couldn’t let him go. Not if there was a chance he was tied to the attempt on her life. I’d keep him confined to his rooms and the gardens.

Greaves stepped back, grimacing at my bloodied face. Another drop fell onto the mantle’s chain. “Priest,” he barked, jaw clenched.

A man emerged from the shadows, ready to assist. The public temples were just beyond the palace walls, their offices tucked inside the thick barrier.

His red robes whispered as he darted into the alcove, returning with a basin of water and a white cloth. His young features twisted with a mix of horror and fear.

I cleaned my face, pressing the damp fabric to my nose. The flow stopped, and I exhaled in relief. It wasn’t an ailment—it was a sign.

“My thanks, priest,” I murmured, dipping the cloth into the bowl of pink-tinged water. “Dilute it further, then dispose of it in the sewers.”

I wouldn’t take any chances with blood on palace grounds.

My frown deepened as my lips formed a tight line. Surely, the staff were handling Nienna’s cycle with care. I forbid women on the battlefield for a reason. But with Egath within our walls, I had to ensure her cloths were burned, not discarded.

The bright sun made me squint as I looked down the path. Black armor absorbed the sunlight, reflecting none as a Thresher stood sentinel before the temple of Veridis.

Curiosity tugged at me. Instead of returning to the palace, I headed toward him. Threshers had been assigned to the most vital nobles since the failed attack on Nienna. I didn’t know this one personally, but I needed to see if she was among them.

I passed the temple of life, casting a brief glance inside.

The princess knelt on the stone floor, her deep blue dress spread over a white fur. Her golden hair tumbled in waves, obscuring her face. Fyrn knelt beside her, hands clasped, head lowered in prayer.

A quiet relief settled in my chest. Perhaps she was seeking solace from the goddess, hoping to heal her grief. A Draconis princess, bowing in a Radaanian temple… The two priestesses watching from the alcove would be quick to spread the word. Nienna had chosen a god.

I ran a hand through my hair, thoughts churning as I walked. She was winning the hearts of my people, one moment at a time. Her presence at the council, her resilience after the attack, and now this—Radaan would be eating from her hands.

She was cunning. I expected a bride from Draconia—a princess—who would know her place and duty. But she’d never before left Draconis’ shores. I thought she would take time to learn our culture, the ways of my people. I anticipated mistakes, moments where I’d have to cover for her, guide her.

Instead, I found myself picking up the pieces from Tallon, while she proved she was more than worthy of being Radaan’s queen.

An image of her sitting on the throne, draped in the queen’s mantle, burned through my thoughts. Her chin held high with pride, yet her grin would soften, warm, for her people. She would rule with fairness, blending kindness with justice. Elohios would smile upon her reign.

Gods, she would be a stunning queen—fierce. Beautiful.

A wave of heat swept through me, and I gripped my sword’s pommel, fists clenched. She would be the envy of every nation.

But she would rule at Tallon’s side.

Fury flared deep within. Life’s unfairness still baffled me. How had I been so oblivious to Eldeiade? My youth had blinded me then—my na?ve belief that she sought what was best for Radaan. Then she went and spawned a twin soul in Tallon.

I could only hope Nienna had more courage than I did, that she would face him head-on. I had been a coward with the late queen, avoiding her, letting her live her life separate from mine. All she craved was to be admired and served. She wanted nothing to do with the mantle, and I refused to let her out of the palace without it. It was too important to the realm—to us. The throne was no glory; it was a duty. A weight.

Nienna would shoulder that burden willingly, serving the people with both protection and provision.

Tallon, however, would not .

I drew in a shaky breath, aching to meet the princess after her prayer.

But I was the king, not the prince. Her future father-in-law, not her betrothed.

So, I kept walking.

Days passed, and Nienna grew too close. She was always at my side. At council meetings, she took Tallon’s place when he was absent, sitting at my right hand. The initial wary glances turned into a quiet acceptance. Nobles weren’t accustomed to a woman at the table, but she earned their respect with each meeting, offering sharp insights and clear thoughts.

She sat beside me at dinner, close enough that I detected the faint fragrance of water lilies in her hair. I caught the sparkle in her eyes whenever she understood a joke, that twinkle of wit and ease.

Yet, she was too far. Her chair sat just out of reach. I couldn’t touch her, nor could I whisper reassurances when confusion flickered across her face, her brow furrowing at a nobleman’s remark.

Her focus on learning the land’s patterns—the crops, the livestock, the importance of each district—stirred a reckless urge in me. I longed to reach for her, to act on the temptation she kindled.

I kept my distance, avoiding the balcony in case she sought me there. My heart ached for her—I burned in her presence. I couldn’t trust myself.

It had been mere moments after her maid’s death, when I pressed her against the wall, taking her mouth like I wanted to take her body.

I shifted in the saddle, riding through the city. My thighs felt tight in my breeches, and I pasted on a practiced smile as I greeted the people of Reem.

If Greaves hadn’t halted us at the library, if Tallon had not interrupted in the stairwell… I wanted to believe I was above it—above taking her like some careless youth. But clearly, I wasn’t.

Her softness lingered in my memory, the feel of her hair slipping through my fingers. Her quiet moans as she yielded to me. And her persistence when I pulled away—how she reached for me again.

Reins in hand, I rested my palm on the front of my saddle, cursing my wandering thoughts. This wasn’t the moment for recalling the sounds she made or how her legs felt wrapped around me.

We pushed deeper into Reem, stopping to speak with citizens along the way. They needed to see I was still capable of defending them. That I was steady and assured after the assassination attempt, one that surely already spread through the rumor mill.

I was discussing the rising cost of iron with a blacksmith’s son when Greaves nudged his horse closer, his boot brushing against mine.

“No more melting down nails every day!” The boy went on with enthusiasm.

“Resources will grow each week now that the war’s over,” I replied, offering a smile, though my gaze shifted to Greaves.

His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, brows drawn in a sharp frown. The reins were taut in his hands, and his gelding stamped at the dirt.

I studied the path, searching for whatever unsettled him. Commoners weaved in and out around us, a familiar dance. They greeted me with smiles and waves, but knew I wouldn’t be gone long. Some lingered, cautious but curious, staying just beyond the reach of Greaves’ watchful glare—and, at times, his shouted warnings.

Among the crowd, my gaze snagged on the unmistakable gleam of black armor.

A Thresher.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time, Your Majesty,” the boy said, embarrassed.

I returned my focus to him with a nod. “Next week, I expect to see those new nails!” I chuckled, straightening in my saddle.

As I spurred my horse forward, the crowd parted, scattering as they sensed the shift in pace. We kept a safe distance behind the Thresher, careful not to draw attention. It wasn’t unusual to spot one within the city; it only meant a high-ranking noble ventured into Reem.

But Greaves’ expression—his glower confirmed my suspicions. Without further comment, he urged his horse into a faster gait, taking a slight lead.

Nienna wasn’t confined to the palace. She was allowed to roam whenever she pleased, yet by the gods, I wished she would have warned me. Whoever sought her life was still out there, and while the Threshers were elite, they could be overwhelmed.

A cloaked figure whirled on the Thresher, and a flash of blonde hair slipped free from her hood. She hissed, waving her hand at the guard, but he ignored her and pressed on. I could almost feel her frustration as she turned away, plunging into the crowd.

That was enough to snap me into motion.

We veered off the main road, guiding our horses alongside a rickety wagon. The side street was narrow, out of sight, and our mounts were shielded from view. A man, whose weathered face and bloodshot eyes suggested he’d spent too many nights in his cart, squinted at us.

“Your cloak, good sir,” I said, dismounting .

The stallion snorted as I tethered him to the wagon, scanning the area. A few passersby noticed the gleam of my mantle, their faces scrunching in confusion before they bowed.

The man gave a low whistle. “Radaan’s king? Asking for me cloak?”

Greaves cast a skeptical glance my way before dismounting. He extended a hand, his expression unreadable as he waited for the worn garment.

“You’ll be repaid,” I assured him, voice steady.

His posture shifted, eagerness replacing hesitation as Greaves approached the wagon. He looked ready to climb aboard, prepared to take the tattered cloak by force if needed.

“Oh, anythin’ for Yer Majesty!” he said, shrugging it off.

Greaves retrieved the brown cloth and tossed it to me. I wrapped it around my shoulders, thankful for its size. It draped over my mantle and concealed most of my fine attire.

“My thanks,” I called over my shoulder.

Nienna craved freedom, like a bird fluttering against the bars of its gilded cage. The palace, with its high walls and endless corridors, smothered her. If I had the freedom, I’d have taken her to the cities beyond. But that task belonged to Tallon—and he would avoid it at any cost.

My thoughts drifted back to the first time I caught her in Reem without a guard. Her maid had been with her then—the same one who’d been killed.

Was this rebellion born of grief?

No matter the cause, trying to dismiss the Thresher was a mistake. I meant to make her see that.

Greaves shuffled behind me, tugging a gray cloak over his armor. He bumped my shoulder, matching my pace through the crowd.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, his eyes darting beneath the edge of his hood.

I grunted, scanning the sea of faces for the familiar glint of black leather. “Finding Nienna.”

“She’d be easier to spot on horseback.”

“Running her down and tossing her across my saddle would be frowned upon.” I caught a glimpse of her Thresher, and we plunged back into the throng.

“I frown upon this,” he muttered, staying close. “Kal, of all the ridiculous things you’ve done for that woman, this tops them all.”

“The library’s outdone now, is it?” I chuckled, too amused.

Maybe this was why Nienna wanted to escape her guard, to lose herself in the city. Here, it was easy to pretend to be anyone. I wasn’t the king of Radaan, just a man chasing down the woman my foolish heart was set on .

Greaves muttered another curse, weaving through the crowd to stay with me. People barely noticed us, and I was thankful Radaan’s royalty wore no crowns. A mantle was far easier to conceal.

We caught up to the Thresher trailing Nienna as she barreled along.

Worry coiled up my spine when Greaves stepped in front of him. Was she fleeing from something?

The warrior spun, locking eyes with me. His gaze burned with the intensity of a storm. Nyryn’s chosen warriors could intimidate even an army of Velli. Yet, here she was, trying to brush him aside.

“Dismissed, soldier,” I grunted, brushing past. He hesitated, then fell behind. I spared no thoughts for what he might have been thinking.

Nienna dodged two children squabbling over an apple. A gust of wind tugged her hood free, and she yanked it into place. She didn’t glance back once.

A wild urge surged within me, a predator’s instinct to chase. She could navigate a room of nobles, but in the streets, she was oblivious. My heart thudded, steady, as I scouted the alleys ahead.

One—two— there , between the tavern and the potion shop. It was quiet.

“Second,” I muttered.

Greaves groaned, understanding what I had in mind.

Nienna stumbled, her eyes darting over her shoulder, and I ducked, peeking from beneath my hood. Her gaze slid right past me. A small, triumphant smile tugged at her lips. She relaxed, her shoulders dropping just enough to show she was pleased at the notion of losing the Thresher. Her quick pace relaxed.

The street beyond thrummed with noise—laughter spilling from doorways, boots scuffing against cobblestones, and shouts rising above the din.

At the tavern ahead, a drunk staggered into view, weaving on the top step. He squinted at the world as if struggling to place it. She walked past, her gaze fixed forward, blind to any surrounding threats.

I surged, my hand cutting off her scream as I dragged her into the darkness between two buildings. The air turned cold and heavy, reeking of beer-soaked stone and decay. Behind, Greaves tripped the drunk, sending him sprawling. The man roared in pain, his shout stifled by the crash of another body falling into him. A scuffle broke out, voices snarling like feral dogs.

Nienna screamed again, the sound muffled against my palm. Her nails dug into my skin as she struggled. I pulled her further, a dark satisfaction curling within me for catching her off guard. She fought, twisting and kicking with all her strength.

When she sank her teeth into my finger, I hissed, and we turned the corner into a dead-end. I released her and threw back my hood .

“You son of a—” Her insult cut short. Her eyes widened in shock before narrowing in fury. She stood tall, enough to glare at me, though I still towered over her. “—of a swine,” she finished with a scowl.

“Such filthy words, Princess,” I chuckled. “You speak to your king with that mouth?”

Fire blazed in her deep blue eyes, an intensity that burned away the chill. I closed the distance, backing her against the wall, my palm braced beside her head. Her chest rose with quickened breaths, and tension crackled in the narrow space that separated us. Her lips parted, the faintest tremor betraying her fury even as she tilted her chin in defiance. The faint scent of her skin—something sweet. No, dangerous…

Her teeth clicked together, the sharp sound breaking the silence. For a moment, the fire in her stare faltered, as though she forgot what fueled her anger. Her voice was low, edged with steel, as she said, “I’ve kissed him with these lips.”

Gods, the things that did to me.

Blood roared in my ears. My gaze traveled down her face, grazing her throat and the rise and fall of her chest, before snapping back to safer territory. Her hands clutched my cloak, fingers digging into the fabric. She wasn’t as angry as she pretended to be.

“Had you dismissed your Thresher, you might have met another’s lips in this alley.” My words lingered, heavy with accusation, as I watched her eyes flash with indignation.

“You attacked me!” Her nostrils flared, betraying a fury that rippled just beneath her composed exterior.

“Better me than another man.” My voice dipped, low and mocking.

I leaned closer, the rough stone of the alley wall grazing my arm. Her breath hitched as I brushed my lips close to her ear, the warmth of her skin taunting. “What would you have done if it wasn’t me?”

I waited for her reply, letting the silence stretch between us. Her throat worked, tension radiating from her as she straightened. The sharp line of her jaw betrayed her struggle for control, her pulse visible where it throbbed at her neck.

“I can protect myself.”

“Oh?” I pulled back, sliding my hands down her arms.

Her gaze locked onto mine, yet when I lifted her hands above her head, there was no resistance. Her wrists met the rough surface of the wall as I pinned them there, firm but unhurried. And as her tongue flicked out, tracing her lips, the gesture almost undid me.

“What was your plan?” I stepped closer, my body pressing her against the cold, uneven stone, trapping the last of her composure between us. The alley’s grime clung to the surface, but I didn’t care .

Her breathing faltered, her grip on control slipping like frost melting beneath the sun’s heat.

Something hard jabbed at my hip. I drew back, my eyes dropping to the source. A breathless chuckle rippled from her chest, low and teasing, stoking the flames that already burned inside me.

“I told you,” she said. “I can protect myself.”

“And yet, you didn’t.”

My smirk deepened as her expression shifted, the fire in her gaze cooling to ice. The contrast was sharp, cutting. I almost laughed at how easily she masked her fury. “What do you think can protect you from me, Nienna?”

Pushing her felt too easy. Every line of her body was taut, like a bowstring drawn to its limit, but still, I pressed. Restraint had long since burned away, leaving only the gnawing hunger that demanded more. More of her. More of us. A force pulling me closer, sharper, darker, until something broke.

“Why don’t you find out, Kallias?”

Her voice shattered my control. My name on her lips sent a jolt through me. She was already arching into me, her mouth upturned as I dipped to kiss her.

I tried to go slow—sun above, how I tried. But with us, there were only frantic, stolen moments. Her tongue brushed mine hesitantly, almost as if to test her bravery, and I groaned as I opened to her. Her hands tugged at my grip, but I held her firm. With my free hand, I hiked her skirts, desperate to find what she kept hidden beneath them.

I wanted far more than the blade I knew was there.

She whimpered, raising a leg against my hip, a silent plea to be lifted. I smiled against her lips. Demanding, as always. But I wasn’t ready to give in.

My hand brushed against cold steel, and I broke the kiss, smirking down at her.

“This?” I tugged the blade free from the fabric she had wrapped it in, lifting it to her face.

Tallon’s dagger gleamed in the faint light, dousing me with icy clarity. Her mouth snapped shut as I recoiled, stepping back, gaze locked on the familiar weapon. The emerald hilt glittered, the wolves chasing a stag etched into the steel, clear as the day I gave it to him.

The morning after his mother’s burial.

“Why do you have this?”

“Give it to me,” she snapped, reaching for it.

The blade stayed just out of her grasp as I tossed it in my palm. The weight was familiar—one I knew well, having picked it out myself.

“Did he give you this? ”

Jealousy twisted my gut. Had they been closer than they let on? After the assassination, did he offer it as a sign of protection? Did she care for him, while I kissed her like some common wench in an alleyway?

“It belongs to me!”

“It was Tallon’s. Early wedding gift?”

She snarled, grabbing my neck and hauling me down to her. Fury scorched her kiss, and I lowered the dagger. She jumped, wrapping her legs around my waist before I could lift her. Her hips collided with mine, and I hissed at the searing torture.

“Don’t you dare—” she growled, sparks dancing in her wild eyes, “—mention my wedding again. Unless you’d like the reminder of me laying with another man, thinking of you.”

The dagger clattered to the cobblestone. I threaded my hands through her golden hair, slamming her back into the wall. With a sharp tug, I exposed her pale neck and nipped at the soft skin. She squirmed against me, clearly pleased she’d riled me.

I didn’t want to think about her in another man’s bed, least of all my withering son’s.

She let out a strangled moan as I brushed the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. Her fingers threaded through my hair, nails scraping down my nape, sending a jolt of exquisite agony through me. Her legs tightened around me, grinding deeper, and I bowed my head against her shoulder.

Not here.

Not now.

My breath caught, a wild hunger rising inside me. Blood burned in my veins. I needed her in every way—by my side, at my table, in my bed.

But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

Somehow, I pulled away, a tortured groan slipping from my throat as she found her feet. Turning my back on her, the weight of my position settled heavily on my shoulders. King of Radaan, I reminded myself. I didn’t take women in alleys.

No, I would bring them to my rooms, splay them across my bed like a feast.

“Did Tallon give it to you?” My voice thickened with longing, but I fought it back. I stooped to pick up the discarded blade.

“No.” She choked out the word, clearing her throat.

When I turned, she was smoothing her skirts and fixing her disheveled hair. A blush stained her cheeks. Her lips were swollen from our embrace. Gods, if I didn’t get out of this alley, I would do far more than kiss her.

“That’s all I needed to know.” I hummed, tucking the dagger into my belt.

“I want a blade.” Her voice edged with concern .

I paused, studying her face as the hunger within me ebbed. Shadows marked the skin above her cheekbones, and she bit her lip, gaze falling to the ground. I understood that need—the desire for a weapon to feel safe, to believe she could defend herself.

“I can do better, Princess.”

Her attention snapped to me, a mischievous smile curling her lips. Elohios above, the things I would do for this woman.