Alaric stalks out of the marquee as soon as the words drop. He is in no mood to celebrate, he casts one last glance at the portrait. It has survived all these years but now he wants to tear it apart. What has she done? He feels like his entire world is imploding, he has been played in the background like he never thought possible, in a way his arrogant nature refuses to accept. He has ways around everything. He will not let anyone else win, least of all Clara. He walks out shoving the canvas draping door of the tent out of his way so roughly he nearly tears it, trying to vent some of his frustration on the inanimate object. This has been the worst day of his life and he can only see it getting worse. He drops one sentence behind him.
"Find that b*tch and drag her back here with extreme f*
