"What? He forced himself on you?"
Those were the words that cut through Rowan's haze of pain, fury and shame. For all his anger at this arrogant king suddenly pulling him into an embrace, his body simply had no strength left to fight back. Against his will, his head fell against Zalyric's shoulder, his pride burning hotter than his wounds.
What made it worse wasn't the embrace—it was the failure gnawing at him.
He hadn't contributed to the battle.
He had been bound, stripped of his sword, humiliated… and nearly violated.
The shame of it sat like a stone in his chest.
"Damn it…" he muttered, almost too quietly but Zalyric's ear was close enough to catch the words.
"Johann…" Zalyric suddenly breathed his name, neither gently nor coldly but in a tone that struck somewhere in between, as though he didn't know what he meant by it himself.
Still holding him, Zalyric inhaled without realizing, catching a trace of Rowan's scent making his brow furrowed.
