I didn’t know why my first instinct was to protect her. She was a thousand times deadlier than I’d ever be. But her face when she saw the yakshas tugged at my heart. I’d seen that expression whenever the harem eunuchs announced Skanda’s visits. It was worse than fear. It was hopelessness. It warped a person’s face—flattening their eyes, crimping their lips into grimly determined lines. I recognized it. And I hated it.
