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He loved her. He did, and he was almost sure it showed through in his actions, in his words, but he was an accomplished thief and liar and spy, so he wasn’t sure how much of it she actually believed. Of course, she was the same things. And he would very much argue that she was a thief, even if others wouldn’t, because she had stolen his heart out from under him and held it in the palm of her hand. In fact, he might argue she was a better thief than he, and that was something only love could convince him to say.
He loved her. He would do anything to make her happy, go anywhere she wanted, do anything she asked. But he was never sure if she would, or she would just leave him hanging, waiting. Never to tease, no, never that. She wasn’t that type of person, but she did have her moments where she was so concerned about herself or her business or her thoughts that she forgot he was in the room. Some men would appreciate these moments, as they were giving them peace, but he was not that type of man. And then she would smile at him and he’d feel good again, even if she didn’t bring him into her business, because just the acknowledgment of him, and the fact that it would bring a smile to her face, was enough for him.
He loved her. He never would have asked her in that rather offhand way to marry him if he hadn’t. And there were times he regretted doing it that way, of asking without really asking, but she was getting what she wanted, and most days she didn’t complain. But it took him a while to realize he had robbed her of something, of a moment, and he could never get it back. He would spend time trying to make it up, shower her with every jewel imaginable, cover her with the best furs, the best silks, the best of everything, and it would never be enough.
He loved her. He would face fire for her. He would go all the way to see his brother to buy enough red gold to give to Zakath to get Eriond’s ear and beg for anything the young god could do for her, though considering the people involved Urgit would charge extraordinary prices and Zakath would fall off his throne laughing and Eriond probably would do it if he simply asked without him going to all those lengths…but he’d go to those lengths for her, and only for her.
He loved her. And one day soon he was going to marry her. Zakath had told Garion he’d nearly gone bankrupt with his wedding to Cyradis. He was willing to lose it all for her, spend every last cent he had to give her the perfect day. Yarblek would howl at the moon in laughter. Beldin too, probably, and maybe Belgarath as well. Poldera wouldn’t understand, but Durnik would, and he was absolutely positive Polgara and Cyradis and Ce’nedra would all heartily approve of the richest man in the world being willing to give it up for one perfect memory, one perfect day, though they might suggest spending half as much in actuality so he could keep her happy every day afterwards.
He loved her. He loved Liselle, his Velvet, who had loved him since she was a girl and sought to ensnare him, and had succeeded. He loved her to the ends of the earth, to the moon and back, to the end of his days. And when she was lying next to him at night and he whispered that he loved her in her hair, and she murmured back that she loved him, too, and then he knew that she understood the length and breadth and depth of his love for her, and all was right in his world…for a while, at least.