Aidan.
I hated it.
I hated the way she had looked at him.
I hated the fact that she had pleaded, not just spoken up, not just asked, but pleaded for him. Worse, she had dared to make excuses, to defy me, all so she could stay behind and tend to his wounds. As if his pain mattered more than my command. As if he mattered more than me.
More than us.
The thought burned through my chest like wildfire.
Why would she do that if she didn't care?
