#pimaat

Through their bond, Veral felt a wave of disgust from T'Lin, the virtual stranger who had agreed to risk her life to save his eight months ago when he burned without a mate… and tie herself to him for the rest of their lives. They had not exchanged a word before the hasty ceremony; he was far too deep into the fever to even speak his vows.

He knew what he looked like. Cosmetic surgery was for healing wounds and serious birth defects, not for modifying a healthy but unfortunate face. He had been denied when he requested it after a few years of the unsuccessful search for a replacement for his beloved Najin, who he had shockingly lost to a cancer detected too late that Vulcan medicine had been able to heal for centuries.

Wait. The disgust wasn't directed towards him, but the contents of her teacup; more specifically, the spices in her tea.

That he could do something about.

He made eye contact with the servant, a distant cousin just beginning to work her way up in his mother's conglomerate of businesses. He lifted his right index finger to signal for a new teapot, and then his left to request that it not be spiced.