"Get in. Move!"Ethan’s hand was a heavy weight on Noah’s shoulder, shoving him through the doorway of the royal bedchamber. The oak door slammed shut with a crack that sounded like a bone breaking. Ethan didn't even bother with the latch; he just leaned his full weight against the wood, his chest heaving, his face a mask of jagged shadows. The smell of the dungeons—salt, iron, and burnt hair—clung to his tunic."Ethan, wait. You’re scaring me." Noah stumbled back, his bare feet catching on the edge of a thick rug. The wound in his arm was a hot, rhythmic pulse, the bandage soaked through with a fresh, dark bloom."Scaring you?" Ethan’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. He pushed off the door and started toward Noah. He didn't look like a King anymore. He looked like a predator. He reached out, his fingers catching a stray tear on Noah’s cheek and wiping it away with a rough, calloused thumb. "Good. You should be. You’re a little liar, aren't you? Samuel thinks he can get in your head
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