The tent was quiet, except for the rain that fell outside. Rache wasn't certain if the rain had gotten heavier since she woke, but it was coming down hard on the canvas now. A constant and steady patter.
She sat there, her eyes focused on Donncahd's. The prince was glaring at her with undisguised irritation and resentment.
The silence between them was tense. It made her nervous and uneasy, but she had no idea what to say or how to fill the silence with words.
Eventually, it seemed the prince had had enough of her silence. "What is that fool's problem?"
His voice was low and irritated, his eyes narrowed into slits.
She glanced up, surprised by his words, "...I believe his problem is desiring that his prince survive." Her words were quiet. "You were quite close to death."
Donncahd scoffed and looked away.