a P

ck under my cot when the doo

pped from its hinges by

he hall. He was a storm of fury, his black formal wear disheveled, his eyes bu

the celebration.

e from the table and into the sleeve of my tunic. My face remained a blank canvas

hand shot out and clamped around my wrist-my r

cker of pain shot up my arm, but I didn't flinch. I didn't

ow, dangerous growl. His hot breath, laced with wine,

r. My voice, when it came, wa

argument would have. It was like he had thrown a punch an

eving laugh. "Don't lie to me, Ar

eld nothing. I was a void. He was seeing his own re

ence was my only shiel

y back hit the cold stone wall with a dull thud. He followed, trapping me, his large body caging me in

meant to be daggers. "Learn some grace. Some dignity. She

y eyelashes fluttered. It was

t he wanted. A reaction. Any reaction. Tears, anger, a plea. Any

ot give i

of something other than anger in his expression. It was a sliver of helplessness. Of confusion.

eyes and saw nothing. N

frayed as it was, gave him not

emor of something that felt like panic br

ll room like a caged wolf, his energy too large, too violent for the confined s

stool, then returned to him.

ched out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he

port to the Northern Wall. And if I ever see that dead look on your

out of the ruined doorway, the sound of his heavy boots fad

d down the wall, my legs no longer able to sup

uncurle

so tightly into my palm that it had lef

br

t scare me. It s

leave.