Eastiel Edengold stood in the center of his sun-blasted receiving hall. Gone was the heavy fur coat he usually wore at the empire's capital. Here, in his element, he wore a simple, stark white desert robe that made his golden mane and tanned skin seem to burn.
His body was coiled tight. The fatigue was still there in the shadows beneath his eyes, but it had been transmuted. It just made him seem ten times more dangerous. A beast running on pure adrenaline.
A beast in a silent rampage.
"I see you still have the guts to show your face in my line of sight," Eastiel said. His voice was like stone grinding against stone, no greeting, no preamble.
Arzhen gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw standing out in cords. The Lion King's appearance… This wasn't just anger. This was the ravaged, hollowed-out look of a man grieving a mate torn from him. It was a depth of devastation Arzhen had never associated with Cecilia, or with anyone's connection to her.
