Valerian did not slow his steps as he crossed the palace corridors. If anything, his pace quickened, boots striking the marble floors with a sharp finality that made servants flatten themselves against the walls and bow deeper than etiquette required.
Above the palace, the storm still raged.
Thunder rolled like an angry heartbeat across the sky, answering the fury coiled tightly in Valerian's chest. It was not merely anger at the Raventhorns anymore—it was something far more personal.
A sense of betrayal. Of lines crossed that should never have been approached, let alone trampled.
Behind him, Soren struggled to keep up.
"Valerian," he called for the third time, breathless. "Brother, slow down. This won't end well if you storm in like this."
Valerian did not even turn his head.
"She invited her," he said coldly.
"Repeatedly."
Another crack of thunder split the air, loud enough to make the palace windows tremble.
