Dante stood, watching and waiting patiently, as Rhaella considered him for a long moment, her expression painted with what he imagined to be an uncharacteristic look of gormlessness. He allowed his lips to curve into a small, amused smirk. He did not wish to offend her, for she struck him as a woman with a fire in her belly, but he couldn’t help but find her startled expression funny.

Obviously, she had too much on her mind to be listening to his drivel.

Remaining calm and pleasant, he repeated himself quietly, his gaze never leaving her as he started with an open but polite curiosity.

“Aruna keep you,” he said, bobbing his head. “You said it to me last time we met. What does it mean? Who is this Aruna?”

The questions slipped out quickly, but he restrained himself from letting nosiness get the better of him and fell silent after two. Dante had hoped, perhaps randomly and without real reason, that by talking about something obvious he would refrain from offending the intriguing mare too much. If it were him in her position, he knew that he would prefer not to be asked about the baby growing in his belly or who the child’s mystery father was, when it seemed only yesterday she had washed up on his shore, knowing the Lost Islands no better than a newborn baby.

But then again, Dante would never be in her position. He lacked the uterus.

DANTE
a man possessed of some radical notions