Rage

No one moved.

No one spoke.

No one even dared to breathe loudly.

Alexander kept his hand on the knife, feeling the warm blood running down his hand. When the loud cry finally ceased, he said furiously, "There is one thing that sets us apart - your low birth and my high position. One thing sets Guinevere apart from you: my protection, which you momentarily lost, and my everlasting guardianship over her. You would not speak so recklessly of me, not in my absence and definitely not in my presence." He clenched his teeth, enraged. His hand twitched, wanting to twist the knife, but he restrained himself. "And do not, for the life of you, speak so lowly of Guinevere, else your head will pay the price for the carelessness of your tongue."

His eyes blazed with anger. How dare the man speak ill of Guinevere? How dare he even mention her name? Had he granted Denney too much freedom? Perhaps it was time to assert his authority, putting the man in his place, family ties notwithstanding.

"Let this