A blush crept across her cheeks, turning her porcelain skin a delicate pink that spread down her neck to the exposed cleavage of her nightgown. Her full lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath. Then, gently, she grabbed my face with both hands, her fingers cool and tender against my jaw. Leaning in close—close enough that I could smell the faint lavender of her skin and feel the heat radiating from her body—she pursed her lips and blew softly on the stinging cheek.
Her breath was like a healing spell, warm and tingling, infused with the subtle magic she wielded as a healer in our household. It washed over the red mark, soothing the burn instantly, the pain vanishing as if it had never been. A soft glow emanated from her lips for a split second, her innate skill mending the flesh with effortless grace.
