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Her face turned to acid before Deleine gave one flick of her wrists, and the huge doors opened behind them. Her guards unsheathed their swords, but she put up a hand and let out a low laugh, pretending to brush it off.

In that moment, Emara saw her Supreme toy with the idea of killing Torin Blacksteel where he stood as rejection filled the room with bitterness. It was strange to see two people who she assumed rarely faced rejection stand face to face. The fear that baulked in Emara’s heart was unnerving and frantic.

Deleine’s lip curled over her teeth before she gathered herself and took a step back, placing a mask over her enraged face. “You really should get my witch back to her room before we are another guard down. That would be unfortunate, a day before she ascended, would you not agree?” The Supreme laughed, but no one joined her.

Not as Torin Blacksteel’s glare threatened to shatter the mountains around them.

“Slow down,” Emara begged, her feet tumbling after Torin. The shoes Lorta and Kaydence had placed on her feet for the dinner this evening were not made for running. “I can’t keep up with you.”

Everyone had fled from the watchtower after the Supreme had dismissed them, hurrying as fast as they could to leave such a hostile environment. Torin had been the last one to leave, Emara drawing him away, and when he had left the room, he had gone scarily silent, walking like a lunatic.

“Torin, will you slow down?” she screamed.

Without saying a word, he spun, grabbing her under the ass with one arm and throwing her over his shoulder, in between his lethal swords. It was a miracle that the air was not knocked from her lungs at the swiftness of his movement. It took Emara a few seconds to realise what had actually happened.

“What are you doing?” She shifted, kicking and pounding a fist into his back as he took powerful strides down the passageway.

It was useless, of course, and she could feel the blood rushing to her brain, weakening her.

“Hey!” She pounded a fist again. “I am talking to you.”

“You were too slow,” he stated sharply. “And you were about to snap an ankle.”

“Why are you always so concerned about my ankles? Ever think about just slowing down and having patience?”

“Patience.” He sneered. “Coming from you.”

She punched into his back again, a few times, but he just laughed madly and kept walking.

Emara heard pounding steps along the corridor behind them and she strained to look up.

Her other guards were running, their expressions unreadable as they tried to catch up.

“What in the three-faced Mother God did you do now?” Artem’s jaw dropped open.

“I did nothing!” Emara screeched.

“I doubt that.” Artem grinned wildly. Magin shot him a glare.

“She’s not in trouble,” Torin barked as he marched on.

“You’re right, I am not in trouble.” She pounded her fist again, and this time she got a knee into his stomach too. “So put me the Gods-damned down.”

“She sounds really mad, Blacksteel,” Artem declared as he began jogging to keep up. “You better put her down.”

“Yeah?” He turned to face his brethren. “Well, I am angrier.” He seethed, and Emara could feel his heart pounding, his blood racing all over his body.

“What the fuck happened back there, Torin?” Magin demanded, his weapon belt moving as he broke into a jog too.

Torin ignored them, his steps more violent than before as he took the corridor to Emara’s room.

“The Supreme offered him an alliance with herself,” Emara finally said, going dizzy as she hung upside down. “And when he refused her, clearly insulting her, she threatened him.”

“Shit!” Artem groaned.

“Gods above.” Magin almost went into prayer.

“No, fuck that.” Torin snarled. “She insulted you. I don’t give a fuck about her fucking threats.”