Back in the guest suite, the atmosphere was thick with an entirely different, suffocating brand of tension.
Aurelian was pacing the room like a caged animal. He was still entirely naked, his long blonde hair disheveled, trailing past his shoulders as he walked a frantic, repetitive path across the heavy carpet.
His heart was hammering a maddening, violent rhythm against his ribs, the sound echoing in his own ears.
His jaw was locked tight, his thumb pressed aggressively between his teeth as he bit down restlessly on the skin, trying to use the sharp pinch of physical focus to stop his mind from spiraling completely out of orbit.
But it wasn't working. How could it?
Alaric had seen him. His brother—the one person whose submission he had spent a lifetime trying to demand—had walked in and witnessed him completely stripped of his royal dignity, standing in a room that smelled rawly of a carnal storm.
It was a catastrophic, paralyzing humiliation.
