Sasha stormed through the halls of the fortress, his long strides unrelenting. The very air around him crackled with restrained fury, a force that sent guards and servants scrambling out of his way. Conversations were quiet, eyes were lowered, and the presence of their Tsar in this state was both rare and dangerous. His rage was quiet and smoldering, like heat coursing through his veins. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath coming in sharp, controlled breaths. He had no right to be angry—not at Aimee, not at anyone but himself.
He should have seen it. Should have stayed. The other night he saw a few bruises on her arms but didn't say anything because healers had already taken care of them. But this, this could be dangerous for her.
'She had worse.' The tought increased his rage even further. What the fuck did Silas do to her?
