Her gaze finally lifted, and Dorian straightened as it landed on him. She gave him a full once over upon hitting the top step, obviously surveying him as she would have an enemy on the battlefield, and then she looked past him to Hagen.
“I'm not sure why you're all standing around," she spat. "Were you waiting on me before you took the Promised Prince's head?"
Hagen stood from his chair and grasped Dorian's shoulder. "I've had a long chat with our Prince. He came to barter peace."
A great sneer found its way on Katla’s face, and her hand clenched around the hilt of the axe at her waist. "Peace?" she dared, voice rising. "Did he barter peace when his people condemned the great King of the south to death?—“
"Katla—“
“—Our ally and friend, murdered because of the lies of his own kingdom—“
"Katla," Hagen droned, his tone more of a warning than before.
“—Tell me why I shouldn't behead his pretty head right now and send it back in a bag—“
"Katharos!" Hagen finally shouted.
Katla’s words ceased, but her scowl remained.
"I will speak with you in private," Hagen demanded.
The others dispersed to talk amongst themselves once more, though Dorian swore it was only pretend. He was sure they were all listening intently to whatever Hagen wanted to speak with this Katla about.
Katla pushed past Dorian to Hagen, knocking her shoulder and glaring through him when she did. Hagen took her arm lightly and led her back behind the chairs out of earshot. Dorian didn't bother trying to listen. He was too busy staring at the blood on Katla's shirt and across her chest. The axe strapped to her hip. Even moving so that he could see the dagger on her calf.
To any on-looker, he was sure he looked as though he were taking in and memorizing every inch of her curves. So much so that when they came back towards him, Dorian startled himself straight.
"I suppose I should introduce you properly," Hagen said, pointing to the woman. "Dorian, this is Katla Katharos. One of my finest Generals, my executioner, and three-time Forest trial champion."
The doors opened again, and more people strode through to gather around. But Dorian barely saw, entirely too focused on the woman before him to dare breathe away. His lips curled upwards at the name Hagen had called her.
Katla.
A smirk worked its way onto Dorian’s lips. “Kat, huh?”
Her knife was on his throat the moment the words emitted from him. But Dorian didn't flinch, hands pressed behind his back, leering smile still on his face.
The tip of the blade brushed the lump in his throat, and she seethed from her lips, “It is Katla or Katharos. NotKat. I am not some feline mongrel to woo into your bed, little King.”
“Have you ever been with a King?” Dorian wondered.
“I have,” she answered, a sly smile rising to her eyes. “One far more formidable and—” her gaze darted over him “—brawny than yourself. At least he knew how to handle a woman such as I.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
She stared at him a moment, only the whisper of chuckles sounding from the other Blackhands who were listening to the exchange. She smiled at the ground and then back at him, head tilting, breasts brushing against his chest, the clench of her jaw apparent at his mocking shenanigans.
“I will ruin you,” came her warning.
The right corner of Dorian’s lips quirked higher, and he allowed his own head to tilt, his eyes to travel deliberately over her again, settling on her hips, over the curves to her waist, admiring the hug of the corset wrapped beneath her breasts.
And then his long lashes lifted to hers.
“Name a time and place, Kitty Kat.”
Katla lunged.
Dorian nearly stumbled off the back of the dais at the rate he fumbled backward. Her knife was in his face. Rage billowed from her eyes.
