No stonger allies no greater friends no bigger fighters of honor could a king behould then these assembled afore me mine brothers mine blood

Wrath was in a bad mood, and he knew this because the sound of the doggen waxing the wooden balustrade at the top of the main staircase was making him want to light the whole fucking mansion on fire.

Payne nailing him in the face woke him up.
George brought him back his independence.
But Beth handed him his crown.

Wrath walked over to the closet and looked throught the clothes. He took out a black long-sleeved shirt, a pair of leather pants, and --jeez, what was this? Oh, not fucking likely. He was not going to fight in BVDs. He'd go commando before he got cought dead inthose things.

Let him go, V. And let him take her where he needs to go."

As Wrath's voice cut through the drama, the urge to go pyrotechnic became nearly irresistible. Like they needed another kibitzer? And fuck-that on the command.

V squeezed the surgeon's collar trash-bag tight. "You are not taking her anywhere--"

The hand on V's shoulder was heavy, and Wrath's voice had an edge like a dagger. "And you're not in charge here. She's my responsibility, not yours."

Wrong thing to say. On so many levels.

"She is my blood," he snarled.

"And I'm the one who put her on that bed. Oh, and I'm also your cocksucking king, so you will do as I command, Vishous.

As they went by Assail, the male was watching them. "Jesus, he really is blind"
Wrath pulled up short and unsheathed his dagger, pointed it directly into the guys face. "But my hearing is just fine