The Crown Prince's slurred command was a key turning a lock. The Captain of the Guard's hesitation vanished, replaced by the rigid certainty of an order from his sovereign. The guards, six of them now, formed a tight ring around our table, their hands no longer hovering near sword hilts but closing around the pommels. The one nearest me reached out, his gauntleted fingers aiming for my arm.
"Do not touch her."
The voice was not a shout. It was a low, vibrational command that seemed to drop the temperature in the immediate vicinity by ten degrees. Kaelen did not move to strike and did not even fully turn his head. But his presence, which had been a watchful mountain, became an active glacier—immovable, ancient, and capable of grinding anything in its path to dust. His silver-gray eyes, fixed on the reaching guard, held a promise of violence so absolute the man's hand froze in midair.
