Samandriel sat when commanded to, and to his own credit managed not to push back into the couch cushions too much when Carrick was suddenly on him again.
Somehow here, in private, it was a lot easier for him to find what remained of his spine.
"Not. Yours," he repeated, voice low and defiant. There hadn't been a moment he wished for his grace more intensely than this one. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could imagine that his eyes had gone white blue and shadows of his wings spread out proudly behind him. That was not something that was ever going to happen again, though, and it killed Samandriel a little to attempt to accept it.