"You're bleeding," he observed, as if noticing the weather. "I'll send for a doctor."
He released Piper and moved toward me, reaching out with the hand that had once cradled my face like I was something precious.
I slapped it away.
"Save your concern for your precious comare," I spat. "Better hurry—wait any longer and those theatrical bruises might fade before anyone important sees them."
I turned to leave, my vision swimming, my legs threatening to buckle.
Piper's foot shot out with serpentine precision.
I tripped hard, crashing forward toward the unforgiving marble.
Colino's instincts fired—the reflexes of a man trained since childhood to protect what was his. He reached out—
Then stopped himself. His hand froze inches from my falling body.
He stepped back.
"Fine." His voice was ice. "Handle your wounds yourself."
I forced myself upright, swallowing the scream that clawed at my throat as pain lanced through every nerve.
He watched me from the elevator threshold, Piper tucked possessively against his side. "I'll accompany you to select your gown tomorrow," he said, as if we were discussing dinner reservations. "The alliance ceremony won't plan itself."