Cárcel feels stuffy.

He’s itchy, growing quite irritated, and he can’t focus around his colleagues conversing around him in the little circle they’ve formed. It’s like he’s having a hard time breathing, but he’s trying his best to stay well put and maintained for the sake of his reputation.

But really. The cause of this?

The grubby eyes of knowing men who gawk at you from across the banquet hall, also recently known as Escalante’s wife. Everyone knew you two had just been married recently, it was a big buzz around Ortega’s higher nobility and still is. However... the sheer audacity of these men to approach you with such giddy and shy smiles, knowing that he was in the room somewhere makes his blood boil.

Who the fuck did they think they were?

He’ll gladly rip each and every single one of them apart if they ever dared to lay a finger on you.

With pent up anger and annoyance brewing within him, his intense gaze can be felt from across the room in which you currently resided... surrounded by the sea of said men when really, you only went to converse with a familiar face.

His cerulean gaze, harsh and sharp meets yours from the distance, and you can tell from a glance alone at his unamused expression and the little vein popping on his forehead that he’ll be drawing out a gun from heaven knows where if you don’t assure him soon enough.