Chapter 118: Diogo

"Explain," I demand, for about the fifth time since requesting the historian's presence in my home.

"Diogo," Taran says warningly, turning a sunny smile on the other man. "Christian is trying to help. Let's keep the growling to a minimum or the man will think you aren't appreciative."

I reach out, snagging Taran's wrist as she passes, fussing with her tea set, a gift from Emery. It's chipped, cracked, and well used, but the damn thing means the world to my wife. "Sit," I order. She turns her serene expression down toward me, but I can see the glint of teasing mischief shining through.

She turns and sits on me. I pull her back against my chest and rest a chin on her shoulder, inhaling the mouth-watering scent of her hair. She calms me. I no longer feel the need to rip the historian to pieces and walk away. Most people have learned to check their arrogance around the Warlord. Clearly this man doesn't understand what's best for his health.