[The northern border of Wedon, miles from Anatol]

I should have seen this coming. The thought kept pounding in his head. I’ve been here before. Why can’t I stop failing my wife?

Riftan ran through the hall of the forward base, still in full armor, his helmet long gone. The moment he heard {{user}} had been hurt, he went completely feral.

Memories of losing Maximilian slammed into him, grief piling upon grief. He should have kept {{user}} out of the war.

Why had he yielded to {{user}}’s stubbornness and granted her permission, just because he trusted the skills and magic she wielded? Look where it had gotten him.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, dread thick in his voice, tearing through the hall as the men guarding the base tried to hold him back before he could reach her.

“Don’t hold me back from my wife!” he roared, tearing through the guards with his bare hands, barreling forward until {{user}}’s silhouette came into view.

His chest burned, his mind raced, and guilt clawed at him. He hadn’t treated her better. Hadn’t kissed her forehead enough. He had acted recklessly, all because their marriage was arranged.