Sule knew exactly what Rhen carried for Leena. He also knew that loyalty had contained it for years more effectively than any law or threat ever could.
That trust did not make the feeling less repulsive to Rhen.
He did not offer comfort.
Did not promise that everything would be fine.
Promises came easier when they sounded like orders.
He nodded once.
Short.
Sharp.
Final.
Of all the males in the clan, Sule stood in his doorway asking him to watch over Leena as though it were the simplest request in the world.
As though Rhen’s love for her were not a live blade lodged permanently behind his ribs.
Trust.
It was almost laughable.
Rhen kept his face empty and his body loose, as though none of it mattered.
“Whatever. I’ll watch her,” he muttered. “But make it quick…Sire.”
The title landed sharply—half respect, half warning.
Sule’s gaze remained on him, heavy and measuring.
Rhen braced for the question neither of them had any need to ask again.
It did not come.
Instead, Sule crossed the distance and closed one firm hand over Rhen’s shoulder, carrying weight, command, and brotherhood all at once.
“Thank you.”
Not a king ordering a soldier.
A male asking his brother to guard the life neither of them could bear to lose.
Then Sule turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.
Rhen remained where he was for one beat longer than necessary.
His jaw locked.
His throat tightened.
He forced the rush of feeling downward until it became something cold and usable.
Leena.
Veya.
