The way we were positioned, no one could see. I tried to slip his hold, tried to bend and reach the knife I’d stashed in my boot, but he squeezed until tears slipped over my cheeks.

Until, all at once, the guard’s hand was torn off my face. He stumbled backward.

Roark had one palm gripping the side of the Stav’s neck, his other hand cutting the drunken man with words—silent and fierce.

“Sentry,” the guard spluttered. “My apologies.”

By now, Kael returned to my side and nudged me behind him.

I looked nowhere but Ashwood. His eyes were like bright fire, consuming the pale fear on the guard’s face.

Touch her again, and I will stand by as she melds your jaw shut and you take your food through your nose.

“Is there trouble, Sentry Ashwood?” King Damir stood on the dais.

Roark tilted his head, fury locked on the Stav. Is there?

The guard shook his head. “No. No trouble.”

Then beg forgiveness.

“No—” I tried to interject, but Roark had already shoved the guard in front of me, forcing him to kneel. Like I was some sort of goddess.

The Sentry gripped the guard’s hair and wrenched his head back. The man swallowed thickly. “Apologies, Melder Bien. Forgive me.”

“Fine.” I waved a hand, wishing the damn soil would swallow me up. “Forgiven.”

At long last, Roark released the guard, watching him scramble away. When he looked back to me, there was a sort of smugness to his grin, that faded the moment he took in my glare.

“Was that necessary to do right here?” I gritted out through my teeth.

“Ly,” Kael snapped. “You’re not to be disrespected.”

I ignored him. “I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

Roark’s eyes shadowed. He crowded me with his broad body, unbothered that Kael stood so close. Is this your gratitude? It needs work.

His hand was in front of my face. I pushed it aside, lowering my voice. “I am grateful, but I do not like attention drawn to me. When you spend your life hiding, to have endless eyes watching can be too much at times.”

Too many people, too many gazes pointed my way, felt like the air, walls, wherever I might be, were crushing in on me. My chest tightened, blood heated, fog gathered in my head, until I wanted to flee.

Where I thought Roark might mock me, maybe gesture one of his snide comments, instead he simply dipped his chin in a nod.

“If there are no more delays, Sentry Ashwood”—King Damir’s sharp tone sliced through the tension between us—“then I would like to get on with the ceremony.”

We were taken from the courtyard. Only Roark and a few highly ranked Stav followed.