Yet the pressure in Sule’s chest refused to ease.
The room still carried the echo of what Leena had endured—fear, pain, and the raw edge of nearly losing everything. Sulecould still hear her scream when he closed his eyes. He could still feel the helplessness of warrior hands rendered useless by a battle he could not fight with teeth or steel.
Rhen leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, broad shoulders rigid with tension that had nowhere to go.
His gaze remained on the fire, unfocused, the flames painting gold and blood across his silver eyes.
He had never been good with quiet, especially not quiet burdened with things neither male had permission to speak aloud.
Rhen shifted, resisting the urge to pace.
His jaw tightened.
Instinct told him what was coming.
“Rhen.”
Sule’s voice cut cleanly through the stillness.
Rhen turned his head enough to acknowledge him but did not answer.
Sule did not push.
“I know tonight was not easy for you,” he said, his tone low and controlled. “Seeing her afraid. Being there through it.”
Rhen’s shoulders tightened.
Sule’s eyes moved briefly toward Leena’s sleeping face and the newborn’s tiny fist curled against her skin.
Then he looked back at his brother.
“And I know why you stayed,” Sule added. “You stayed for Leena.”
That did it.
Rhen pushed away from the wall and turned sharply, his glare lethal.
“Whatever.”
Sule did not flinch.
“I’m not blind, brother.”
Rhen’s fists clenched, tendons rising beneath his skin.
“Don’t start.”
“I saw you hold her when she was afraid. I saw you keep her steady until I could get there.”
Rhen’s laugh was cold and humorless.
“Spare me the speech.”
“It isn’t a speech.”
Sule’s voice lowered.
“It is respect.”
