Lorraine walked closer, her hand resting gently on Leroy's cheek. He flinched at the coldness of her touch.
And for once, he realized that it didn't matter what prophecy she sang, what power glowed through her veins, or even who she might be. What mattered was this: she was his Lorraine.
He caught her wrist, firm enough to claim her, tender enough not to harm her. The otherworldly smile lingered, her luminous eyes fixed on him like twin moons.
From the corner of his vision, he saw the two men collapse forward, trembling, foreheads pressed to the stone as they muttered words he couldn't catch. He didn't care what they feared. His gaze never left her.
"Whoever you are," Leroy said in sharp, deliberate High Veyrani, the syllables cutting like a blade, "leave my wife."
The smile faltered. Her eyes widened.
Leroy stepped closer, his grip unyielding, his other hand now wrapped around her waist, claiming her. "Now." His voice rose, thunder without fury, command without doubt.
