Here’s what I came up with. No, it will probably never get any longer. Unless a plotbunny attacks. Plotbunnies change everything.
“You are not Robin Hood,” Elys growled. Her eyes sparked when she was angry, Steven noticed.
“Never said I was.” And he walked around her. No point in explaining, after all. She’d never concede. But maybe someday she’d forgive him.
Now she chased him, whirling so fast her skirts caught at his ankles before swirling back.
“Have you even considered how well we could live on–”
“And have you thought about how we would explain where our money came from?” Five more minutes. If he could keep her arguing for five more minutes…
“We are guild. We explain to no one.”
“Until a guildmaster does the asking.” Steven wanted to hurry, but that would ruin his plan. Make Elys run, and she would make him pay. Before he was rid of the gold.
A cold breeze ruffled the leaves on the King’s Road, stirring nature’s gold about his boots. Despite himself, Steven quickened his pace. She could die. The curse could harm him, certainly, make him miserable his whole life–but she was witchfolk. She could die the final death. And he could never make her fear that a power might be greater than hers.
“Steven Ilksback, do you regret your promise?”
“Never have I, and never will I. Even when I was green,” and hadn’t that been the experience, croaking on a lily pad! “Even when I was green, I was grateful that I could still look upon you.”
“You are a flatterer, Steven.” Her tone was softer. That wouldn’t last.
“Truth flatters you, Mistress.” Damn. Should not have said–
“If mistress I be, why do you still walk?”