Before William could even react, a shocking force struck him from behind, and he was sent flying with a brutal kick, crashing hard onto the ground and overturning the table laden with food.
Bowls shattered. Broth splashed across the floor.
Caelith lifted her head in bewilderment.
A tall, dark figure stood at the doorway.
Backlit by the fading light, his face lay in shadow—only the sharp outline of his form, and those eyes, cold as tempered ice, could be seen, glistening with malice.
Rhaegar was back.
He strode inside without a glance at the groaning man on the ground, walking straight to her.
He stopped just a breath away.
His face was pale, shadows beneath his eyes betraying sleepless nights, a faint stubble along his jaw. Yet when he looked at her, the intensity in his gaze burned, fierce and unyielding.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
