Sir Kit practically danced with impotent rage, but his father cut him off with an imperious slash of the hand. He looked over at Isaac, then back to Derek. “God has spoken,” he said, taut anger in his voice. “I don’t have a choice.” He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something else, some threat, but he just turned on his heel. Sir Kit and the other Argent knights fell in behind him.
Summer opened her mouth blindly to Isaac, pressed against the steel of his armour.
“I’m so sorry for putting you through that, Summer … I hope that one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” he murmured, allowing the tears to shine in his eyes but stubbornly denying them the opportunity to fall, deeming the act weak after what he’d just achieved. There’d be time enough for that later. “But you’re safe now.”
She shook her head, fingertips curling as though she was looking for some fabric to dig them in to. “Don’t say that,” she pleaded, “please don’t say that. You’re a knight, you fight, that’s what you do. I don’t, I can’t hate you for it.”