Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
KATELL
Katell woke to Dorias’ comforting presence beside her.
Morning light filtered through the tent’s canvas, casting soft shadows over the hardened planes of his face.
Sleep had smoothed his expression, making him almost endearing.
One arm was tucked under his pillow, the other locked around her waist as if, even unconscious, he refused to let her go.
She shifted, propping herself up against the cushions. His grip tightened.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Her fingers traced the black geometric Mark depicting a shield on his upper arm. “You sleep like a man who doesn’t fear death.”
One eye cracked open, his mouth curling into a slow smirk. “Death knows better than to come for me in your bed.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, then studied her with clear, assessing eyes. “How do you feel?”
Her head throbbed, hands trembling faintly against the blankets. More than a day without Laran’s Tears had left her body on edge, the craving for magic simmering just beneath her skin—yet her mind was still trapped in the smoke and screams of the Eighth’s camp.
“I feel more rested than usual,” she said after a moment. “How long was I out?”
“A full day and night,” Dorias replied, sitting up and brushing a kiss across her brow. The warmth of his lips was a fleeting balm, quieting the storm inside her for a heartbeat. Then the blankets slipped away with him, and the cold morning air bit at her skin.
He poured water into a silver cup and handed it to her with a single Tear. “Drink.”
She obeyed without a word, his steel gaze fixed on her as she swallowed the glinting obsidian stone in three gulps. The effect was instant. Magic threaded through her veins, warming her limbs, quieting the panic still lodged in her chest.
Dorias tugged on his tunic. “You need to eat something.” Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared behind the partition.
Katell leaned back, the cushions sinking beneath her as the magic eased her pounding head. The tremors in her hands dulled. The ache behind her eyes receded.
When Dorias returned, he carried a polished tray piled with bread, cheese, cured meat and, even more rare, fresh fruit. He set it on her lap like a soldier laying tribute at a queen’s feet.
Her stomach growled, but still she hesitated.
“How bad is it?” she asked quietly. “How many men did I…”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, clenched around the silver cup. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes—not after what she’d done.
“None,” he said firmly.
His fingers slid beneath her chin, tilting her face until she was forced to meet the slate storm of his gaze.
“Thocero got to them in time. No one died. No one even lost a limb.”
Her breath caught. “But I—I saw blood, I felt it. I cut through—”
“You avoided hitting any vital organs, even if you don’t remember.” A wry smile ghosted his lips. “No killing blows.”
By the Moon… If he hadn’t been there to pull her back, she might’ve killed them all. Starting with Tyrrhenus.
She forced down a bite of bread and cheese, the taste dry as dust. When she drained her cup, Dorias took it from her without a word. He didn’t rise. Instead, he crouched in front of her, close enough for his heat to seep into her skin.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her throat tightened. “The others didn’t tell you?”
“They did,” he said, his tone giving nothing away. “But I want to hear from you.”
She nodded, piecing together the chaos. “When Tia didn’t show for guard duty, Pinaria came to find me. We tracked her with Arnza and found Larth instead. A few soldiers had done a number on him.”
Dorias’ jaw flexed, but he stayed silent.
“I tried to reason with the cohort leader to avoid a fight. I tried. But when their legate showed up, and I saw his eye…” She faltered, heat crawling up her neck. “I lost it.”
That shimmering silver eye had hit her like a punch to the gut. Memories of the arena had come rushing back—fear, desperation, rage—Nik’s voice echoing in her head.
What was it Tyrrhenus had said? That he’d taken the eye himself?
Anger twisted in her chest. She should have gutted the bastard right there.
She bit into a red apple hard enough to make Dorias lift an eyebrow.
“He had the eye of an ,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. The thought of the stolen eye embedded in the Rasennan legate made her stomach turn.
Dorias let out a rough breath. “I know.”
Katell stared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I forgot to tell you,” he said flatly. “Or maybe I didn’t think you’d react like that.”
The words struck harder than she’d expected—not cruel, but careless. He refilled her cup with the same detachment he might use to discuss a patrol schedule, as though her bloodlust and the memories that had driven it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Since the battle at the Green Mountains hillfort, they’d spent countless nights tangled in each other’s arms, trading truths about their pasts.
He’d told her about Dalmatia—about the death of his family, his enslavement in the arena, the fights that nearly killed him, and his meeting with the Emperor.
She’d given him everything in return—stories of the Freefolk, her childhood with her father and Alena, her own time in the arena. She’d spoken of Sinope many times.
He knew how important the had been to her.
And still, he’d said nothing about Tyrrhenus?
She took the cup from him and drank, but the water did nothing to cool the heat still pulsing under her skin. “So, what’s my punishment?”
Dorias frowned. “Punishment?”
“I attacked a legate. I’m sure he asked for my head.”
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaustion carved into every line. Her frustration faltered.
How many hours had he spent behind closed doors, pulling strings, bargaining for her life and the Black Helmets’?
“The matter has been handled,” he replied gruffly.
It wasn’t the reassurance it should’ve been. If anything, the roughness in his tone twisted her gut. “Handled? How?”
His hesitation chilled her blood. “Dorias… who paid in my stead?”
He held her gaze for a long, unreadable moment before finally saying, “Larth.”
Her breath rushed out, fury flaring so fast she couldn’t contain it. She shoved the tray from her lap, plates clattering to the floor, and flung the blankets aside.
“Stars be damned, Dorias!” She snatched the fresh woollen tunic from the stool and pulled it over her head.
“He knows better than to summon his Gift,” Dorias said coolly. “He burned a man’s face off—”
She grabbed her riding leathers. “They’d beaten him to a pulp. He was only trying to protect Tia—”
Dorias clicked his tongue against his teeth. “We have rules for a reason. A hierarchy for a reason. No matter what happened, he shouldn’t have attacked like that. Especially not a superior.”
Katell scoffed. “I attacked a dozen men and almost ripped Tyrrhenus’ throat out.” Her hands shook as she struggled with the strings of her trousers. “I should have been punished, not my men.”
In one swift movement, Dorias seized the strings from her trembling fingers and pulled them tight, yanking her a breath from his chest. Heat radiated off him, searing through the thin fabric of her tunic.
His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “If you think I’d let anyone lay a finger on you, you’re mistaken.” His steel-grey eyes locked on hers, unyielding. “I will protect you, Katell. Whether you want me to or not. Always.”
The fierceness in his gaze made her heart ache. After everything she’d done—the chaos she’d unleashed—how could he still look at her like that? Still choose her?
“Dorias…” she whispered, her hands cradling his face, thumbs brushing the tension from his jaw. “What if I can’t control it next time? What if I hurt you?”
His expression softened just a fraction. “You won’t. We’ll figure this out together. You’re not alone, my love. You never will be.”
He let go of her trousers, his hands gliding over her hips instead.
Heat spread through her chest, but she pushed against him, holding him off. “Why?” she asked, searching his face. “Why are you still here—after everything?”
He didn’t answer. Not at first. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her there.
His silence was weighted with things unsaid. Words burned behind his eyes, restrained not by doubt but by memory.
She understood.
He had loved before. He’d had a wife and child, and then lost them both when the Westerners attacked Velch. And though he’d shared much about his past, a part of him remained sealed off—a wound that refused to heal. Katell couldn’t fault him for it.
His fingers brushed her skin along her hips as if trying to ground himself in the moment, his breath mingling with hers in the close intimacy.
Then he broke the silence. “Because you’re the most important thing in my life.” A breath. “More than you know.”
Then his mouth was on hers. Claiming. Possessive. Not to silence her, but to say what he couldn’t.
Katell’s heart thundered. Her doubts and fears dissolved under the weight of his touch. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, needing him like breath. In that moment, she believed him. He wouldn’t let her fall—not alone.
She hitched one leg around his waist, drawing a low, guttural sound from his throat.
His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as he growled in her ear, “Keep doing that, and I will keep you here. All godsdamned day.” He nipped her throat. “Romilda and her meetings can wait.”
His lips trailed lower, and a delicious shiver ran down her spine. For a second, she was tempted to surrender to the heat.
Instead, she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I should go find Larth,” she said gently, though her lips brushed his in one last lingering kiss.
His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once. But he let her go.
She grabbed her fur-lined boots, the cold biting at her skin. Dim light filtered through the tent flaps, and the hush outside told her it was still early morning.