Delaney entered, panting heavily.
She stood in the wide open doorway, trying to catch her breath. The entire House of Lords turned to look at her in pure, stunning shock. She was a deeply terrible sight. She was wearing her white silk wedding dress, but the pristine fabric was completely ruined. The hem was torn and caked with thick, dark brown mud from her frantic horse ride. The delicate white lace on her sleeves was ripped.
Worst of all was the blood. A strip of torn white silk was wrapped tightly around her head, stained a dark, ugly red from the deep gash near her temple. Dark bruises shaped like large fingers marked her pale neck. She had no warm cloak. She looked completely wild, entirely exhausted, and incredibly fearless.
In the front row, Rowan felt his heart stop completely in his chest.
He spoke, his voice cracking with raw, unfiltered emotion. "Del?"
