After Daphne left, Vyan entered his bedroom and found Iyana perched on his dressing table chair, towel-drying her hair. With a playful smile, he sauntered over and reached for the towel, but she held it firmly.
"I can handle it myself," she said, her tone clipped.
"Oh, you can, but not very well, apparently. You are soaking everything." He chuckled as she rolled her eyes, reluctantly surrendering the towel. Vyan took over, gently patting her hair dry, his fingers light and careful.
As a comfortable silence settled, he suggested casually, "This is taking too long; I am getting kind of hungry. Want me to dry it with magic?"
"Nope, I prefer the natural way. Unlike you, Your Grace, I don't want to rely on magic for everything."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Why, are you afraid you will end up lazy like me?"
