Payne nailing him in the face woke him up. George brought him back his independence. But Beth handed him his crown.

[Qhuinn looking a Blay] A tear escaped from that eye . Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn’t hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.

Qhuinn: "What is wrong with you, that you care so much about me?" Blay: "What is wrong with you, that you can't see why I would?

And speaking of on board, she'd moved into John's room properly. In his closet, her leathers and her muscles shirts were hanging next to his, and their shitkickers were lined up together, and all her knives and her guns and her little toys were now locked up in his fire proof cabinet. Their ammo was even stacked together. How frickin' romantic.

In the center was a tiny handprint in red paint.

And it was kind of funny to see all these professional fighters unwilling to get within a mile of the female. Then again, if you wanted to survive doing the work they did, accurate risk assessment was something you developed early -- and even Qhuinn, who was the object of the protective instinct the Chosen was rocking, wouldn't have dared touch her.

I love you. And I'm going to keep loving you even after you don't know I exist.