The word struck harder than accusation would have.
Rhen stepped closer.
“You want to thank someone? Thank your queen. She did the work. She bled. She fought. I was just there.”
“Just there,” Sule repeated.
There was no mockery in the words.
“That is the point. You stayed when every instinct in you would rather have bled than let anyone see what it cost.”
Rhen’s throat worked as though something sharp had lodged there.
“She deserved better than panic in the room,” he snapped. “She deserved steady. So I was steady. That’s it.”
His gaze cut toward the bed for the briefest second.
Leena sleeping.
The baby breathing.
Peace where there had nearly been death.
Rhen looked back at Sule.
“Don’t twist it into some pathetic story.”
“I am not calling you pathetic.”
“Sure sounds like you’re lining me up for sympathy.”
“It is not sympathy,” Sule said firmly. “It is respect.”
The fire popped softly in the hearth.
Leena breathed.
The newborn shifted with a tiny sigh.
The room tightened around them—two predators forced to stand inside something painfully human.
Rhen’s jaw locked, the muscles in his face set like stone.
“You don’t know a damn thing.”
Sule’s expression did not change.
“I know what Leena is to you,” he said quietly. “I have known for a long time. So has the clan.”
Rhen went utterly still.
The warning in his eyes sharpened, but he did not deny it.
Sule held his ground.
“I also know what she is not.”
Rhen’s stare turned glacial.
