"Move!" Soren's voice cracked like a whip through the courtyard, sharp and lethal. He wasn't the returning hero in that moment; he was the Emperor, and he was terrified.
He barked orders at the gathered staff, his eyes scanning for the physician, his trajectory already locked onto the imperial wing.
Aldric opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a greeting, perhaps questions about his disappearance, but Soren was already moving, a blur of blood-stained armor and white silk.
Aldric closed his mouth understanding the desperation that bled from him.
Ryse stepped back. He had seen the Emperor in many configurations, in the heat of battle, in the cold of the council room, but he recognized this particular look.
This was a man who would cut down anyone who stood between him and the door. The crowd parted like water before a prow. The corridors opened, staff scattering to clear the path as the Emperor carried his wife toward their private sanctuary.
