Lucian's POV
The smile didn't die until I crossed the threshold of my own home. It withered the second I saw Ragnar standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes tracking me like a predator.
"You were smiling," he noted, his voice dripping with suspicion. "What happened?"
"Nothing," I snapped, trying to brush past him. The lingering scent of Alina and the baby was still on my skin, and I didn't want him treading on it.
"Where did you spend the night, Lucian?"
The question hit me like a physical wall. I stopped, my back stiffening. I turned to him, my voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "You don't seriously think I'm going to give you an itinerary of my night. You aren't my mother, Ragnar."
"No, I'm not," he shot back, stepping into my space. "But I am the one who had to count the bodies this morning. Our men were slaughtered last night."
