Of course it’s fucking Zeyv.
He’s flanked by five others—both male and female, all different species. I recognise most of them. One is a human, and my gut twists with disappointment. We’re so few, and to see one of my own standing with them?
Three more bodies appear beyond the gate, shadows becoming solid. That’s ten in total.
Ten to two. Because undoubtedly that’s what this is. There’s no misunderstanding here.
And yet I don’t feel fear.
Kael stands beside me like a living weapon, every inch of him taut and battle-hardened. I reach for my dagger but don’t draw it yet.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand, voice slicing through the tension like a whip crack.
Zeyv’s grin is all sharp teeth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of smile that wants to see someone bleed. “I’ll give you one chance to leave, Sonny,” he says, which honestly surprises me. “You can walk. We’re after him.” He jerks his chin towards Kael.
I let out a low laugh, full of bitter sarcasm. “Oh, how generous of you. Really stretching that big heart of yours today, huh, Zeyv?”
“Careful,”Kael warns me silently.“They’re unstable. And armed.”
Unstable?I barely hold back my snort. That doesn’t cover the half of it.
“I have no quarrel with you,” Kael says aloud, stepping forwards half a pace, his hands still at his sides. “Let us pass. I don’t wish to fight.”
Zeyv sneers. “Too late for diplomacy, Glowranth. You’re a symbol of everything that’s wrong here. Both you and the prince here in our home? What’s next? The queen herself knocking on our doors?” He spits near Kael’s boots. “You’re a threat,”he continues. “And once you’re dead, we’ll take out your prince next. Varek can’t protect everyone. And don’t think we’ll spare your human toy either, if he makes the mistake of staying.”
My jaw tightens. I feel Kael’s fury spike—barely held back by sheer force of will. But me? Oh, I’m done playing nice.
I step forwards, dagger drawn now, my eyes locked on Zeyv. “Then come and try,” I say. “Let’s see if you survive the attempt.”
His expression hardens, his sneer twisting into something far uglier. And then—chaos.
They surge forwards, weapons raised, the corridor narrowing with the weight of bodies and intent. Kael’s arm swings up, intercepting the first blow aimed at me with the flat of his forearm. The impact rattles through his armour, but he doesn’t flinch. He moves like liquid vengeance—controlled, precise, devastating.
His gauntlet glows, power thrumming beneath the surface as he drives his fist into one attacker’s chest, sending them flying back into the wall with a crack that echoes down the corridor.
It’s hot. Ridiculously hot. But I don’t have time to be distracted.
Another comes at me fast, with a curved blade that whistles through the air. I dodge, barely, the steel grazing my shoulder. Pain sears through me, hot and wet. It’s not deep, but it’s enough.
Right. No more Mr Nice Guy.
I lash out, my foot connecting with their knee, and when they stagger, I slam the hilt of my dagger into their jaw. They crumple. Another takes their place.
There are too many.
Kael’s fighting off three at once. His power crackles with each movement, light and heat pulsing from his palms as he uses his energy to throw them back, knocking weapons from hands and bodies into walls.
And fuck, he’s beautiful like this. Focussed. Fierce. Lethal.
Distracting as hell.
But I push through it. Varek’s voice echoes in my mind, sharp, relentless.You’re not the strongest. So don’t try to be. Be smart. Be quick. Be unpredictable.
I duck low, sliding between two combatants, and jab my dagger into the back of a knee. They scream, collapse. I roll away, using my momentum to dodge another attacker’s slash, and come up swinging with the pommel of my dagger. It’s not pretty, but it’s effective. That’s Varek’s training—no frills, all grit.
I fight dirty. I use elbows, knees, teeth if I have to. My small size lets me slip through gaps, lets me strike where it hurts.
I’m covered in sweat and blood, and I don’t even know which is mine anymore. A dagger flashes towards me. I twist, raising my arm too late?—
