The word was right there. The smallest, most devastating sentence in every language ever spoken, was sitting on her tongue like a lit match.
She never got to strike it.
Because somewhere between the 'I love you' exchange and the door exploding inward, Guinevere Lunaris's life made its daily transition to a shitshow.
Nicholas Shadowfell hit the bathing chamber door like a man who had been running since the matebond told him to and his legs hadn't consulted his brain about the destination. The hinges didn't stand a chance. The wood swung inward so hard it bounced off the marble wall and came back at him and he caught it with one hand without looking because the only thing his eyes were doing was finding her.
