"Go ahead," Renan says to me. Casual. Bored. "I've got this."
The other guards have stopped. No one wants to be the reason their captain gets his brains splattered across the Concord floor.
I release my grip, the pathetic excuse for a male plops to the ground. Daiven's trying to crawl away. Blood pouring fromhis ruined nose, one hand clutching his balls, the other dragging him across the marble floor.
More guards surge forward. Renan adjusts his aim without looking—just pivots the gun toward the new movement and they freeze.
"I can do this all day," he says. "Really. I'm enjoying myself."
I grab Daiven's ankle and drag him back.
"You hit her." I flip him over, plant my boot on his chest. "You put your hand on her face. You made her bleed."
"The tribute—" He's crying now. Actual tears mixing with the blood. "She spoke out of turn—"
"So did I." I grind my heel down. Feel ribs creak. "Are you going to hit me too?"
"Please—"
"Where is she being held?"
"Intake facility—n…north wing—please, I'll tell you anything—"
"Yes." I lean more weight onto his chest. Something cracks. He screams. "You will."
"Koshin." Renan's voice cuts through the noise. Not alarmed. Almost amused. "You're making a mess."
"You wanted blood on concrete, didn’t you?"
"The guards are getting twitchy. Might want to wrap this up before someone does something stupid."
I look around. The chamber is chaos—people pressed against walls, guards with weapons half-drawn but no one willing to test Renan's aim, Faith's procurist white as bone and clutching his robes like they'll protect him. War's captain has stopped eating and is watching with the expression of a man who's just found religion.
I turn back to Daiven. He's whimpering under my boot, face a ruin of blood and tears and snot.
"North wing intake facility," I repeat. "Standard procedure."
"Y…yes—"
"If she has a single new bruise when I see her again, I'm coming back here. And I won't stop at your ribs." I grind down one more time, feel another crack, listen to him scream. Then I step off.
He curls into a ball on the floor. Sobbing. Bleeding.
My cock twitches. Still hard. Harder than before, actually. Something about the violence, the blood, the way his bones felt giving way under my boot—the way all of it is tied to her, to protecting her, to making sure everyone in this fucking room knows what happens when someone touches what's mine.
What's—
Fuck.
"The session will reconvene tomorrow at dawn," I announce to the room. My voice is steady. My hands are covered in blood. "Merit Daiven won't be attending. If I see his face again, I'll finish what I started."
No one argues.
I turn and walk toward the exit. Renan holsters his pistol and falls into step beside me, easy as breathing.
"Well," he says as the doors swing closed behind us. "That was fun."
"Was it."
