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‘No. Stay here,’ Rymedur ordered his son, but James refused to let go even as he moved to exit the room. He couldn’t be wasting time here. Areanel needed him.

‘But—’

‘James!’ Rymedur whirled to face his son. He knew that James was trying to be helpful, but that was not what he needed right now. He needed to get to Areanel and fast! ‘Stay here.’ His eyes jumped over his son’s shoulder, finding his children’s fearful faces staring back at him.

James followed his gaze and glanced back. With a sharp intake of breath, James seemed to relent—as though he understood his siblings needed him more than Rymedur did.

Rymedur didn’t waste a second. As soon as James let go, he whirled around and ran from the room.

Racing through the winding corridors, Rymedur’s heart jumped into his throat. His insides twisted. What had happened? Sweat beaded along his brow, dripping down his temple. Why had there been so much blood?

His boots slammed against the marble as he dashed down the twisting corridors, the muscles in his thighs straining as he pushed himself to move faster.

Rymedur didn’t bother praying to the gods; he had lost all faith in them after they had taken his son. Instead, he focused on the deafening sound of his blood thrumming in his ears.

The sight shocked Rymedur.

The first thing he noticed was the literal trail of blood smearing the floor—like Areanel had dragged her broken body from the far end until she could not physically pull herself any further.

Lying crumpled and motionless by the bathroom doors, Rymedur could barely see the rise and fall of his wife’s chest, and it terrified him. Shaking himself, he called out for her, running to her mangled body, knees hitting the cold, hard floor. All he could think about was Areanel and where the blood was coming from. It looked to have dried, and there didn’t appear to be any gaping wounds, but Rymedur could only see her back.

Taking stock of the injuries he could see, he noticed how some of her bones were twisted at the wrong angles. Her nails were chipped and bloodied from dragging herself, and one of her shoulders looked like it had popped from its socket. An image from a few days ago—of Areanel bidding him goodbye before leaving for Vennedove—flashed through his mind.

Gods, what had happened?

Gently turning her onto her back, Rymedur assessed the damage. He needed to find the source of her bleeding—and quickly! So much blood coated her skin that he didn’t know where to start. He had found her covered in blood plenty of times, but it was always someone else’s. Never her own.

Panic threatened to paralyse him. There was no way he would be able to find the source of her bleeding in this state—he needed to clean her before he could stitch her up.

Lifting her prone form, Rymedur tried to be as gentle as possible, but it was hard with the number of injuries she had sustained. Her pained groan sent a blade spearing through his already racing heart.

Carrying her to the bathroom, Rymedur sent a single thought to his shadows as they peeled from his skin. Slithering across the floor, they set to work on filling the bath with warm, running water.

Usually, Rymedur only needed to think about what he wanted, and his shadows would follow suit, but with the way his mind was racing, he couldn’t think straight. He acted as if his shadows were a living, breathing being as he ordered them around. ‘Gather extra towels, rubbing alcohol, healing herbs and bandages,’ Rymedur instructed.

Leaning her body against his own, Rymedur worked slowly. He didn’t want to tear open any wound that had already healed as he began stripping Areanel of her battered leathers.

The hiss of pain when he lifted the leathers from her side had him instantly assessing her. A deep gash sliced its way up her side, and the sight of the hellish wound had Rymedur fisting her leathers.

A single shadow curled towards him, lifting its head as though to scan her body. It swayed back and forth, head swivelling in the direction of the bath to inform Rymedur that it was ready.

‘Thank you,’ Rymedur found himself saying. He mustn’t be thinking clearly. Did he just thank his shadow?

But Rymedur couldn’t bring himself to care, eyes still locked on Areanel’s wounds.

With a quick nod, the shadow scurried back towards the bath as though to guide him, and Rymedur followed. Carrying Areanel’s broken body as gently as possible, he placed her into the warm water.

Her bare skin was a mess of purple-blue bruises and small and large cuts. Taking a washcloth from the side, Rymedur began to rub away the dirt and blood, using delicate motions.

Gradually, that fiery rage he had grown accustomed to over the last few years felt like it was rising—reaching its boiling point. He was as taut as a bowstring ready to fire. Someone had touched his wife. Someone had put their filthy, unworthy hands on his little demon, and he wanted them to pay.

Preferably with their lives.

But whom?

‘Who did this to you, my little demon?’ His thumb gently stroked away the dried, blood-crusted strand of hair from her purpling face, the delicate action a contrast to the icy tone he used.

Areanel parted her lips; her eyes opened for a fraction of a second. Those blue gems landed on his, and the pull of her lips caused the cut at the corner to split open again.