Frisha blushed furiously when he removed his pants. Although she could not see any detail through the canvas, her imagination got the best of her. She knew he would never do such a thing, but if Rezkin did ever proposition her, she was not sure she could refuse him. She briefly wondered how many women had fallen for his charm and devastatingly handsome looks. A surge of jealousy washed through her, and she put those thought out of her mind. Instead, she settled for fantasizing as Rezkin snuffed out the light.

On the third day upon the river, the wind was fierce. Rezkin’s long black hair continually slipped from its queue and lashed him in the face. Frisha pulled her cloak around her, but her hood repeatedly caught in the wind. Rezkin remember the scarf he had purchased for her and retrieved it from his pack. Catching her attention, he handed it to her without a word.

Frisha took the soft, silky scarf from Rezkin’s hand and stared at it for a moment as though trying to figure out what it was. She blinked a few times and then looked up into crystal blue eyes set into a perfectly sculpted face. His black hair fell around him and hovered in the wind. In that moment, she could not tell if he were truly angel or wraith, but he could not possibly be a simple man.

“This is a woman’s scarf,” she said in surprise.

Rezkin cocked his head, as he was wont to do when he was confused or considering. “Yes?”

“Where did you get it?” she asked.

“In Justain,” he said.

Frisha blinked again. Rezkin’s way of answering questions simply and without embellishment could be frustrating.

“Why?” she asked. Had this belonged to another woman? A lover, perhaps? Her stomach soured at the thought.

“As you can see, it gets windy on a boat. I did not want you to catch a chill,” Rezkin replied.

“You bought this for me?” she asked.

Rezkin looked at the scarf and then back at the young woman. Surely she did not think he bought a woman’s scarf for himself.

“Of course,” he said. “For whom else would I make such a purchase?”

Frisha was suddenly exuberant. Her smile lit up her face as she caressed the delicate material. “Thank you, Rez. This is … just … you are so thoughtful. Thank you so much.”

Rezkin reminded himself that women, in particular, seemed overly concerned with styles and colors and current fashion. His lessons in proper dress for various functions, and the constantly fluctuating trends in court fashion had been endlessly boring. He wanted to make sure she approved of this item in case he had to purchase such provisions for her in the future.

“Do you like it?” he inquired. “It is the same color as the tunic you were wearing the night we met, so I thought you would approve.”