She shrieks and lunges at me, and we go down in an unsightly mess of traded blows, slaps, claws and grunts. I come up on top, straddling her, and gods does it feels good when I slap her across the cheek. Once. Twice. Thrice.
My fist clenches for a punch but an arm encircles my waist, lifting me off her and I start to thrash, eager to return to clawing her stupid face off.
Lucien's breathy laughter caresses the curve of my ear. "That's enough, fire cracker."
The guards of Silvermoor rush over to where Astrea sits, her face covered in blood, eyes gleaming with murder. Rafael joins her side, poring over her with distaste and he lifts his gaze to us, where Lucien keeps me clutched to his chest and off the ground. "You laid a hand on--"
"We all saw who started it," Lucien says dryly, but he inclines his head anyway, not at all in apology, but in mockery. "But you have my apologies. My queen can be quite passionate."
