The journey from the Great Hall to the Royal Super-Suite was executed with the terrifying, unrelenting speed of a military march.
Aeron did not speak. He did not slow down. His large, bare hand was clamped around Kaia's waist, locking her flush against his side. The guards lining the corridors took one look at the King's blackened, murderous expression and practically flattened themselves against the marble walls to avoid his path.
"Aeron, you are crushing my ribs," Kaia managed to gasp as they rounded the final corner of the East Wing.
"I am keeping you from running off to sea," Aeron growled, his voice a low, vibrating hum of pure violence.
They reached the heavy oak double doors of their suite. Caspian, who had somehow sprinted ahead via the servant passages, was standing by the entrance holding a silver tray of correspondence.
The valet took one look at Aeron's face, dropped the tray onto a side table, and dove behind a large potted fern.
