Leonhardt didn't blink.
He picked up the bottle from the tray the girl had left behind, popped the wax seal, and filled her glass with a careful hand, slow, deliberate, the kind of pour that said I'm humouring you, not surrendering.
The liquid shimmered like dusky moonlight.
Veronica smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "Oh my. Dangerous and obedient. I might have to steal you from the goblins."
"I don't come cheap," he said, tone dry.
She took a slow sip of the Papillon, eyes closing briefly.
"Mmm… Gods, that's good. You ruin me with this stuff." Her gaze flicked open. "And I mean that in more ways than one."
He raised an eyebrow.
She leaned back in her chair, running a finger down the stem of the glass. "Here's a counter-offer, dragon-boy. You help me build this second inn—your way, your goblins, your plan… but"—her tongue touched her top lip, slowly "you give me the exclusive contract for all the Papillon."
