It was a good day, a good day until.
And then he heard it—words so vile they seemed to warp the air around them.
'…now I have to kill you,' Aiden thought, the vow sliding through his mind like a blade half-drawn from its sheath.
He forced his jaw to remain still, his lips a neutral line. Rage, molten and uncontainable, boiled in the marrow of his bones.
His hand twitched. His eyes twitched. His breath tightened. His palm slid instinctively toward the sword at his side. But before he could even complete the thought of steel, another blade was already out—Big John's.
It gleamed, catching the sunlight like a sliver of the heavens itself. The edge pressed against the soft flesh of the baron's son's neck. The boy's throat bobbed visibly, a lump moving like prey caught in a snare.
