~Grace~
Rafe reaches out, his hand clamping firmly around my bicep. The heat of his palm seeps through my skin, a stark contrast to the cold dread pooling in my stomach. He doesn't wait for a rebuttal; he simply begins to walk, hauling me along with him as if I'm nothing more than a stray pup he's decided to leash.
The training yard falls into a deafening silence. The sound of sparring swords and the grunts of exertion die out, replaced by the heavy weight of numerous staring eyes. I can feel the questions burning into my back. Why is the King touching her?
We reach the heavy doors of the armoury situated just behind the weapon racks I had been admiring moments ago. He kicks them open with a lack of ceremony that speaks of absolute ownership.
