As they spoke, Deren looked at Sylvanas. His gaze fell on the full curves—at the hands wrapped around them—and he suddenly felt a little embarrassed.
"What's wrong?" Sylvanas sharply noticed that something was off with Deren. She leaned forward, propped her chin on her beautiful snow-white hands, and looked at him suggestively. "Are you interested in my body?"
"No, no, no!" Deren hurriedly waved his hands in denial. "I was just looking at your hands."
"My hands?" Sylvanas curiously looked at her own hands but found nothing unusual. Then realization dawned on her. "So you like my hands?" She suddenly became inexplicably happy.
"Hey! Long Ears, don't overthink it. Deren just wants your hands. Are you willing to give them to him?" Onyxia knew her darling had not been attracted by the elf's hands. Sylvanas had drawn bows and fired arrows for years; her fingers were slightly misshapen, covered in calluses and scars.
"You want my hands?!" Sylvanas sucked in a sharp breath and asked Deren uncertainly, "You want my hands?" As she spoke, she extended both hands toward him.
By then, Deren had regained his composure and reassured her, "Don't worry. One of my plans requires your hands. Just be mentally prepared when the time comes."
Upon hearing Deren's words, hesitation flashed through Sylvanas's eyes. She looked at the man across from her again and again, opened her mouth as if to speak, but in the end merely said calmly, "You saved my life. If you want my hands, that is only a small matter."
Deren gave her a thumbs-up. "That's right. This is the Sylvanas Queen who doesn't sweat the small stuff and can let go when it is time." As he spoke, he raised his teacup in salute.
At the word "Queen," Sylvanas rarely blushed. She recalled