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Avicinda can’t keep his hands off his Wish Master…naturally, there are consequences.
“Stop moving,” grumbled Avicinda, then, as an afterthought: “Lord Chigda.”
Whim danced over the precious fabric of Chigda’s robe, guiding the needle as he mended the long tear with such precision that he knew it would not leave any marks at all. Chigda at least stopped squirming, letting Avicinda work faster.
“How lucky I am, that I have such a skilled Stylist at my side,” remarked Chigda, “Even though he is one who gets carried away.”
Avicinda flushed silver, but did not deny that. After all, he did tear Chigda’s robe off him at the end of the long workday…
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