Sule’s eyes burned past him.
“Keep her away from my son.”
“I am.”
Veya looked between them.
The grief in the corridor was almost tangible. It clung to the walls, raw enough to have a scent.
Blood.
Smoke.
Loss.
Rhen closed one hand around Veya’s forearm.
“Enough.”
She tried to pull back.
Darkness folded around them.
The corridor vanished.
A heartbeat later, the guest suite reformed around her.
Veya staggered as Rhen released her. She caught herself against the foot of the bed and turned on him.
“What the hell was that?”
Rhen remained near the door.
“You ran.”
“You moved us through—”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Not relevant.”
She stared at him.
“You can’t keep me locked in here.”
“I can.”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“You ran through a grieving stronghold with no control over your senses or instincts.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“You reached the king and his newborn son.”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
