The slap was a declaration. An abdication. Not from her title, but from the role she had been forced to play for five long years. The role of the patient, graceful, and barren wife. That woman was gone, incinerated in the white-hot flash of her own fury.
She stood there, her chest heaving, her hand stinging, and watched as Auren's face, the face she had loved more than her own life, transformed. The shock gave way to a cold, unfamiliar anger. An anger born not of passion, but of a deeply wounded pride.
"She is my mother," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl she had never heard him use with her. "You will not raise a hand to her."
"And you will not stand by and allow her to humiliate me!" Elyra shot back, her own voice shaking with a rage so profound it was almost calm. "To bring a broodmare into my home, into my marriage, and you defend her?"
"I defend my blood!" he countered, his voice rising. "A loyalty you, it seems, have forgotten the meaning of!"
"Enough."
