The walk to the Royal Wing was less of a romantic stroll and more of a hostage extraction.
Cassian didn't let go of Elian's arm. He marched down the corridor, his grip bruising, his pheromones radiating in angry, jagged waves. The hallway was empty. Valdus had stayed behind to manage the fallout of a screaming Princess and a ruined dress, leaving Cassian to storm off into the night.
But even without an audience, the air around the Prince felt heavy with violence.
"Sire," Elian whispered, trotting to keep up. "Slow down. You're going to rip my arm off."
"I am not slowing down," Cassian growled, staring straight ahead. "If I stop moving, I am going to turn around and burn the ballroom down."
He stopped at his bedroom door. The regular guards took one look at his face and practically melted into the stonework to get out of his way. Cassian kicked the door open.
He shoved Elian inside and slammed the door shut. He threw the deadbolt with a loud CLACK.
"Strip," Cassian ordered.
