Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
KATELL
Katell sat alone in the quiet hush of her tent, the canvas walls faintly rustling with the wind. The hearth burned low, casting flickering orange light across the room, shadows dancing over the packed saddlebags by the entrance.
Everything was ready for her departure in the morning. All that was missing was Dorias.
He had missed dinner, but he’d arrive soon. He always did.
Not wanting to waste time, Katell stepped behind the partition to her sleeping quarters and slid her tunic from her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the ground. A chill swept over her bare skin as she stood unclothed in the dim light, waiting.
A moment later, the tent flaps snapped open, ushering in a rush of cold air. Dorias stepped past the partition, all shadow and command, the night still clinging to his cloak.
He halted, his eyes catching on the discarded tunic on the rug, then her naked body in the half-light.
Katell raised an eyebrow, perfectly calm. “You’re late.”
“I came as soon as I could.” His voice was hoarse, roughened by cold and something deeper. “What if someone else had walked in?”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Then someone else would’ve gotten an eyeful.”
He crossed the space in two strides, a growl low in his throat, and seized her mouth with his.
The kiss was fierce, stealing the breath from her lungs.
His hands, still chilled from the night air, dragged across her skin as if he meant to brand her with touch alone.
Fire leapt in her veins, each nerve sparking to life like struck flint.
She helped him shed his armour with practised ease, each strap quickly unbuckled.
The moment it fell to the floor, he hauled her against him, gripping her bare thighs and lifting her in one smooth motion.
She locked her legs around his hips, and he pressed her back to the central tent pole, the canvas shifting slightly around them.
She gave him a breathless smile. “We’ll make the whole tent shake again like last time.”
His lips found her throat, his voice low and unrepentant. “And we’ll bring it down if we have to.”
A short laugh escaped her. “Well, according to Romilda, the whole camp already knows about us.”
“Officially, no one can know,” he murmured.
“But unofficially…?”
One hand cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple slowly. The other arm held her flush against him. “Unofficially,” he said, lips brushing her ear, “I want every soldier outside to hear you scream my name. I want them to know who you belong to.”
Katell shivered, her breath catching as his mouth trailed down her throat.
His hips rolled forward, the hard press of his arousal against her core enough to make her ache.
She gripped his broad shoulders, fingers digging into muscle as she hiked up his tunic and tightened her legs around him in silent demand.
He grinned against her skin and shifted his grip, adjusting her weight.
With a swift motion, he entered her, and the air left her lungs in a sharp gasp. The rhythm that followed was fast, their muffled moans and breathless curses rising to fill the tent.
Their bodies moved together with a primal urgency, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through her core. She arched her back, nails digging into his skin as she lost herself in the sensation.
“Gods,” Dorias rasped. “You feel so good.”
“More.” The word was a plea and a demand all at once. “Don’t stop.”
She wrapped her legs tighter around him, craving more of him—more of this intoxicating connection they shared.
Dorias answered with a growl, burying his face in her neck as his pace intensified. Sweat slicked his skin, glinting in the hearthlight, his muscles taut with effort.
She met him thrust for thrust, each movement driving them closer to the edge, her breath catching with every surge of pleasure. His fingers dug into her hips until all that existed was this—heat, skin, breath, and the wild rhythm consuming them both.
“Dorias…” Her moan broke against his mouth as he kissed her again. The tension coiled tight inside her, unbearable, exquisite, and then shattered, leaving her trembling in his arms.
He followed her over the brink soon after with a strangled groan, his body seizing against hers.
Later, as they lay together, their limbs entwined beneath the flicker of candlelight, the ache in her chest swelled.
It was always like this between them—no pretence, no softness. Just fire and fury, bodies and breath. A storm neither wanted to tame.
With Scylas, it had been different. Familiar. Years spent learning each other’s bodies had settled into something comfortable… and predictable.
Dorias was none of those things.
He was an insatiable force who often left her a trembling mess. When it was over, she always fell asleep tangled in sheets and the heady fog of spent pleasure.
And yet… something was missing.
Katell couldn’t put it into words, only that in the silence afterwards, something inside her stayed curled up tight—wanting more. More closeness. More of him. But he rarely lingered.
Whatever unsettled her, she’d never found the courage to name it, let alone confront him.
“I wish you could come with me to Tiryns.” The words slipped out with more longing than she usually allowed herself. Maybe it was an effect of Laran’s Tears—she’d taken two before lying down—or maybe it was just the weight of goodbye pressing too hard against her ribs.
Dorias pulled her closer and pressed a slow kiss to her temple. “We’ll meet again soon, my love,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Except they would be in Kisra then—under the watchful eyes of the Emperor, senators, and nobles. The thought made her stomach twist.
“I’m going to miss you.” It struck her that they’d rarely spent a day apart since Dorias had rescued her from the arena.
“I know.” His fingers trailed down her cheek and along her jawline. “I did what I could, but the Empire’s plans stop for no one.”
“So you keep saying.” She managed a tired smile and pressed a final goodnight kiss to his lips, already missing him.
He didn’t respond.
Eventually, his breathing slowed, and Katell lay on her back, staring into the flickering shadows above.
She listened to the rise and fall of his breath, steady as ever, while her thoughts spiralled in the silence.
When sleep finally came, it was shallow, restless, and filled with dreams of another lifetime.
Dreams of Camp Bessi.
Sunlight filtered through leaves, dancing on the surface of a creek.
She sat with her feet in the water, the warmth of summer on her skin.
Alena’s carefree laughter rang out. Scylas grinned as he splashed through the shallows, and Leywani’s voice drifted on the breeze, singing an old tune from home.
They were all there. Whole and happy.
Alena turned to her with a smile, achingly real, and said her name the way only a sister could.
Kat.
Then the dream was gone—the creek, the sun, the sound of Alena’s laughter—all dissolving into the cold air of the tent.
Katell woke with tears on her cheeks and the weight of a promise she hadn’t kept.
The next day dawned grey, the sky heavy with the promise of snow. The camp beyond the tent was already alive. Hooves thudded against packed earth, voices barked orders, but inside, it was still warm, the hearth reduced to glowing embers.
Katell fastened the last strap of her gear. She needed to leave soon. Arnza and Pinaria had agreed to meet her by one of the barricade watchtowers, along with Romilda.
Dorias stood near the entrance, framed by the open flaps, arms crossed over his chest. Pale light edged his silhouette, but his eyes never left her.
“How’s the armour?” he asked, tracking every movement.
She rolled her shoulders, adjusting the black leather breastplate, stiff from repairs after her fight with the Northerner. “A bit tight across the ribs, but otherwise fine.”
“Keep it on you at all times,” he said, the command threaded with concern. “Especially in enemy territory. And be careful. Thocero won’t be there to patch you up if you get yourself half-dead again.”
Katell shot him a sly smile. “Are you worried about me, Legate Dalmatius?”
He arched an eyebrow, deadpan but warm. “Always.”
She turned to retrieve her pack, but before her fingers closed around the strap, Dorias caught her wrist. Without a word, he pulled her behind the canvas partition, shielding them from the world outside. The movement was fluid, carried out with the ease of someone used to getting what he wanted.
Then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was slow but unyielding, weighted with everything he couldn’t say aloud. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her there, claiming the moment as though they had all the time in the world.
When they parted, his voice was quieter. “If you succeed in infiltrating Tiryns, the Twelfth will take over and with any luck, the war against Achaea will be over.”
He hesitated, just for a breath, then added, “Once we’re in Kisra… we could take some time. I have an estate near Pumpai. By the sea. Vineyards, orchards, warm winds. It’s quiet. Beautiful.”
His gaze searched hers. “We could go there. If you’d like.”
Katell smiled. “After months in this cold, spending time alone with you under the sun sounds perfect.”
She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, savouring the last kiss they would share for a long time, memorising the feel of him.
Then, without another word, they stepped outside into the crisp morning air, each carrying a saddlebag slung over one shoulder. The camp bustled around them, soldiers eating breakfast around their campfires, saluting Dorias as they walked past.
They reached the barricade watchtower just as the pale sun crested the eastern hills.
The towering wooden structure loomed above, its shadow long on the frozen ground.
Pinaria and Arnza were already there, wrapped in thick wool cloaks, their saddlebags at their feet.
They straightened at the sight of Dorias, saluting with sharp precision.