“Riden is up in the rigging, fiddling with the sails. He’s barefoot, shirtless, and he’s gone a few days without shaving. Holy hell. I’m staring. I know it, but I can’t seem to stop.
“I could get used to warm weather,” Niridia says from next to me. “Won’t exactly make everyone smell nice, but the view is vastly improved.”
I should have a clever response, but all I can manage is “Aye.”