Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KAY
I’ve been pacing for fifteen minutes. Which is impressive, considering the size of my room and the fact that my legs are still sore from getting knocked on my ass in training.
Again. But I can’t sit still. Not tonight.
I’ve decided I’m going to ask him. Not for answers, exactly—That would be too easy. Too straightforward—I want context.
I want the real story—the politics, the myths, the wars they never mention but that helped shape this world and the culture around me.
After what Sarai said last night, I’m done being the human accessory in a flaming power struggle.
I want to know what I’m walking into. I want the rules everyone else already memorized.
And unfortunately, there’s only one person who might give me that.
I run through the words again in my head, turning them over like a script.
Caziel, I know I’m not marked, but if I’m going to survive this…
No. Too formal.
Hey, quick favor—can you explain five thousand years of fire cult politics to me over tea?
Absolutely not. I’m debating whether I should find him or just wall-text him telepathically, when there’s a knock at the door. It isn’t hesitant. It’s low, measured, the kind of thud that says the person on the other side doesn’t knock often.
I wrench the door open, already knowing who I expect to find, and there he is. Caziel stands in the threshold, arms full of… books. Not just a few. A tower of them, heavy and ancient-looking, some leather-bound, some etched with metal sigils, one with what looks like glass pages.
He doesn’t greet me. Just steps inside and sets the whole stack on my small table with surprising ease.
“Either this is the best surprise ever,” I say, gathering my hair up into a knot on the top of my head, “or you’ve brought me something cursed.”
“The books aren’t cursed,” he says. “As far as I know.”
“How did you know I was going to ask?” I run a hand over the spine of a particularly old looking text.
“I suspected.” Caziel doesn’t quite smile. “The other contenders will have innate knowledge that you simply will not possess.”
I look at the pile. Then back at him. He’s wearing a soft black shirt, half-unlaced at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
His hair is a little mussed. His expression unreadable.
I’m reminded—too vividly—that I haven’t had sex in…
a long time. Not since before my last relationship ended with a crash and a restraining order.
Not since I stopped trusting anyone enough to take off more than my shoes.
And certainly not since waking up in fantasy hell dimension.
What if my sentient room decided to hand-deliver the man in front of me straight to my bed?
I’d have to throw myself off the top of the nearest tower out of pure humiliation.
Caziel shifts, and I tear my gaze away before it lingers too long. This is not the time to objectify the maybe-prince who can start fires with his thoughts. He’s already headed for the door when I find my words.
“Wait.” My voice cracks, but he pauses. “Can you… stay?” He turns.
“I mean,” I rush on, “just for a bit? I—these books look incredible, but I’m not even sure I can read half of them because I can’t read the scroll things, and if I have questions it would be easier if you—or I could write them down I guess, but I’d need a piece of… paper.”
He tilts his head, evaluating me. I can practically hear the gears turning behind his eyes. For a second, I’m sure he’ll say no, but he steps back inside and closes my door behind him.
“I’ll stay.”
He settles on the floor across from me, pulling a thinner volume from the middle of the pile. His movements are precise but unhurried. I sit down opposite him, trying to act normal while my insides buzz.
We read. Or rather—I try. The first book is mostly diagrams, with captions in angular symbols that almost looks familiar.
Runes of some sort? Maybe not. I can’t concentrate.
Not when he’s sitting so close. Not when I can see the edge of his throat as he swallows.
Not when I feel the faintest tug in the air when his glamor flickers.
It’s just for a second—his eye color shifts.
Something inhuman. Bright. And then it’s gone like the room blinked. I swallow.
“I’m going to need subtitles for this. Or a dictionary and thesaurus combo.”
He doesn’t look up. “You may ask questions.”
His tone is neutral, but there’s that flicker again—the way he’s watching me, not with disdain, but with focus. Like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t decided how to solve.
“Fine.” I rest my chin on my hand. “Start with the others. I know their names, but not who they are.”
“Very well. We can start with the Captain you faced off against first.” He shuts the book with a soft thump. “Lyra Iskar. Crimson braids nearly to her knees. Twin blades, steady as her command.”
“Belgian Malinois,” I say immediately.
His head tilts. “What is that?”
“A dog. Military type. Fierce, loyal, disciplined. Won’t quit until the job’s done.”
A pause—then the faintest flicker at his mouth.
“Varo. Platinum hair, cropped close. His silence weighs more than words. His blade is steady, deliberate.”
I snort. “Doberman. All sleek menace, thinks he’s too good for the rest of us.” That earns me a sharper look. Not angry, but like I’ve said something sideways he’s tucking away. Interesting.
“Elira Voss. Ash hair streaked violet. Ink-stained hands. Clever, restless.”
“Border Collie,” I answer. “Too smart for their own good. Always needs a job or they get destructive.”
“Nyxen Vale. Neither man or woman. Slender, masked, shrouded in smoke. Silent.”
“Saluki. Ghost hound. Elegant, unsettling, gone the moment you blink.”
We work our way through the list of contenders, Caz handing me the details I need to pair name to face.
Thyraen with molten eyes is a Cane Corso.
Caelthar with his gold-ringed ears? Old English Bulldog.
Malrik the polished tactician and one of the Elder’s nephew is a standard poodle, not because of his hair but his attention to detail.
Zyreus the dancer is an Afghan Hound, Dravenis the overeager teenager with the floppy curls is a Jack Russell.
There’s also Rhovan the brooding wall. He’s a Rottweiler, Sevrik with his cruel smirk is a Shiba Inu, and Kaelen the patient towering shadow reminds me of an Irish Wolfhound.
By the time I finish, the silence is thick. Caz’s watching me again, but not like a prince judging a contender. More like a man trying to fit a new piece into the puzzle.
“You compare them all to animals,” he says at last. His tone isn’t sharp. It’s almost… intrigued.
I shrug, tracing the edge of the book between us.
“It helps me remember. I’m better with animals than people.
I’m a vet tech—back home, an assistant to someone who heals animals.
I worked with them every day. It’s kind of a habit.
Celebrities, coworkers, random people on the bus—I’d match them to dogs. Or cats. Or whatever fit. It sticks.”
His gaze deepens, ember-dark and steady. “So you see us this way. Through creatures.”
“Yeah.” My voice is softer now, but steady. “Animals don’t lie about what they are. People do.”
His expression flickers again—something like respect, maybe. And when he turns a page toward me, his hand brushes mine in the motion. Warm. Calloused. Not an accident. The contact lingers a breath longer than it should, enough to send sparks rushing through my chest.
“And me?”
I blink. “What?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You match them all. What am I, then?”
The question is sharper than it should be, like he’s daring me.
“Doberman. Tall, sharp, a little terrifying, way too disciplined for your own good.” I blurt the words without thought.
For half a heartbeat, I think I see it—the smallest twitch of his mouth.
Then it’s gone. He turns the page like I didn’t answer at all.
But the weight of the question lingers. He wanted to know.
“Do I also think I’m too good for the rest of you?”
Does he what? I almost miss the fact that it’s my own words being offered back to me.
“So it’s not a perfect science.” I roll my eyes.
Changing the subject is easier than answering his question.
Because yes, kinda I do get the impression Caziel holds himself apart, but I don’t think it’s because he looks down on others.
There’s some rift there. Some deep darkness pulsing at the center of his being.
Not malicious, but pitch black. A crucible that helped shape the man he is.
I recognize it from the same roiling mass of pain and longing that built me up.
The same inky void that held me together when my world was fracturing around me.
“What are you reading?” I ask, shamelessly changing the subject.
“An account of the Ember Maw border collapse from two decades ago.” He lifts the book slightly clearly willing to take my lead.
I blink. “That’s not recreational.”
“No.”
“Light reading before bed?”
“There were casualties.”
Right.
He turns a page, slow and steady.
“The borders aren’t secure,” he says. “There are incursions near the southern cliffs. Villages have gone dark. Patrols vanished.”
“And the Ember Maw?” I ask. “That’s the hellcats?” I think I pulled a muscle in my brain trying to remember what Sarai had said about them the other night.
“Yes.”
He meets my eyes. “They are not folklore.”
I shiver slightly.
“They hunt us? Sorry, you?”
“They hunt anything.” His jaw tightens. “They are unpredictable. Fast. And worst of all—intelligent.”
“And the boogeymen right across the border?”
He nods once.
“But living like that,” I say quietly, “always braced for attack… doesn’t that kind of fear create more danger?”
He closes the book to look at me. His expression is shuttered but I catch the spark of surprise.