Horus's Birthday Banquet (2)

Guilliman put his right hand behind his back, pressing it against his lower back, striking a haughty pose. Someone who did not know him might have interpreted it as a provocation toward Sanguinius.

But it was not.

His only reason for doing it was so he could hide his right hand behind his back and clench it tight. He did not want Sanguinius to see that, so he even deliberately lifted his head.

Guilliman's face was pale yet flushed, with an unnatural redness in his cheeks, like a man long afflicted by illness.

"Those words..."

He spoke slowly.

"They hurt me, brother," Guilliman said. "Almost more than the sword Fulgrim drove into me back then."

Leman Russ let out a shrill bark of laughter, his canines jutting past his lips. The Phoenix pressed his lips tightly together, closed his eyes, and turned his head away. Angron glanced at him, making sure his mood had not suffered too badly, before continuing to watch the show.

"But I was telling the truth, wasn't I?"

There was something heart-stopping about Sanguinius when he frowned. He did not often get angry; most of the time, he was smiling. The Primarchs had long since grown used to him appearing as a mediator, a radiant figure widely loved by all.

But now, he had suddenly stopped smiling—and then you would discover that he, too, could be this terrifying.

"No," Guilliman said forcefully. "No, it wasn't like that. I never—"

"—Never what?"

The Baalite took a step forward, his tone gentle and slow.

The cadence of High Gothic made him sound as though he were performing an opera when he spoke. Gloomy Thunderbolt began to gather in the room. He Shenyan watched it all with narrowed eyes, his expression intriguing.

For the moment, he had no intention