"What are you waiting for?" Aeron growled, jabbing a finger toward the severed head. "Get this out of my sight."
The guards moved instantly, scooping it up grimly before hurrying from the chamber to dispose of it elsewhere.
Aeron was left alone once more.
He stood in the center of the room, shaking with fury, blood still slicking his leg, the damp fabric of his breeches clinging uncomfortably to his skin. With a sudden burst of anger, he stormed to the bedside table and swept his arm across it, sending everything on it crashing noisily to the floor.
"That fucking wench," he snarled into the empty room. "How dare she!"
His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath drawn through clenched teeth.
Nheera would pay for this. Of that, he had no doubt. She would learn exactly what it meant to cross him and it would be a lesson she would never forget.
But first, he needed to tend to his wound.
Everything else could wait.
