And that was it, and Jolthar could no longer take it. He hated being called a bastard.
Jolthar's patience snapped. He lunged forward, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Nora stepped between him and Alden, her arms outstretched.
"Jolthar, stop!" she cried, her voice sharp and commanding. "This isn't the way!"
The tension in the tent had reached a boiling point. Jolthar's anger, simmering beneath the surface, had finally erupted like a volcano. His tall frame trembled with rage, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Roblan, sensing the danger, rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Jolthar's broad shoulders, trying to hold him back.
"Jolthar, stop!" Roblan shouted, his voice strained as he struggled to contain the larger man. But Jolthar was too strong, his muscles coiled like steel springs.
