“Rua, look at me,” Renwick whispered. Rua shoved down that sadness that threatened to devour her and steeled her heart with fire instead. “I’m tired; I’m going,” she said, turning to leave. “Wait, please.” Renwick’s hand reached out to cup her cheek. The feeling of his hand on her face had her moving without thought. Her hand snatched the dagger on her hip, and she whirled, stilling the tip of her sharp blade against the flesh of his neck. “I am not in the mood for more commands today, King.” Rua’s voice was not her own. It was a rasping, wicked sound.
