Viktor lifted her.
The motion was instant. His hands found her body. One arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. The princess carry. He stood. The grass, beneath them, was pressed flat. His wings, still retracted, didn't emerge. His legs, enhanced by the physical ability, carried both of them without effort.
Myra gasped. Her hands, which should have been covering herself, went to her face. The 'if-I-cannot-see-them-they-cannot-see-me' logic that was childish and desperate and the only thing she could think of. But covering her face left her body exposed.
Her robe, bunched at the waist, was pushed higher by the motion.
