Celia raises a brow between the two of them as Balthier has to bite back a laugh.
“Little controlling there are we?” She asks.
Balthier puts a hand to her arm to still her, clearly a familiar action. “Celia. My wife, Aerith.”
“Not your usual type.” Her eyes narrow, and he suspects she’s running calculations on whether this is a con or he’s gotten himself into trouble.
“Cute as a plains hare and dangerous as a saber cat? I beg to differ. Aerith, Celia and I are old friends. Not a better swordsman on this continent.”
And it’s absolutely to prove the ruse that he steps closer to Aerith, pressing a kiss to her hair. “She’s not used to southern customs,” he shrugs at Celia. He’s only enjoying this because it’s fun to see the princess so flustered.
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“Little controlling there are we?” She asks.
Balthier puts a hand to her arm to still her, clearly a familiar action. “Celia. My wife, Aerith.”
“Not your usual type.” Her eyes narrow, and he suspects she’s running calculations on whether this is a con or he’s gotten himself into trouble.
“Cute as a plains hare and dangerous as a saber cat? I beg to differ. Aerith, Celia and I are old friends. Not a better swordsman on this continent.”
And it’s absolutely to prove the ruse that he steps closer to Aerith, pressing a kiss to her hair. “She’s not used to southern customs,” he shrugs at Celia. He’s only enjoying this because it’s fun to see the princess so flustered.