Aeron did not walk Kaia to the refreshment pavilion; he marched her.
His hand was clamped around her elbow, his grip a fraction of an inch away from bruising. To the stunned aristocrats watching them leave the croquet lawn, it looked like a chivalrous Prince escorting a faint maiden out of the sun.
To Kaia, it felt like being dragged into a lion's den by the lion itself.
"You are making a scene," Kaia hissed under her breath, struggling to keep pace with his long, furious strides.
"I already made a scene," Aeron replied, his voice a low, vibrating hum of suppressed violence. "I sent a solid oak ball into a lake. This is a strategic retreat."
They reached the striped silk pavilion. It was blissfully empty, the footmen having abandoned their posts to gawk at the splash Valerius's ball had made. The air inside was shaded and cool, smelling of cut lemons and crushed mint.
