I want to spread her legs and put my mouth on her cunt and feel her shake while she tries to stay quiet, while she fails, while she learns that my hands don't hurt and my mouth doesn't hurt and the only pain I'm interested in giving her is the kind that makes her beg for more.
The tunnel forks. I take the left passage without hesitating, muscle memory and instinct, and the stone underfoot changes from rough to worn—older section, closer to home.
"Coin's going to shit themselves," Renan says, matching my pace. "You know that, right? You just walked into their territory, killed their enforcer, took their property, and walked out again. They're going to call it an act of war."
"Then I kill everyone."
Renan laughs. Low, genuine, the sound bouncing off the tunnel walls and dying in the darkness ahead. "You know what I like about you, Koshin? You're consistent. Completely fucking insane, but consistent."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know. I'm taking it as one anyway."
Iowyn shakes in my arms. A fine tremor, barely visible, running through her shoulders and pooling in her hands where they're still curled in my coat. Cold. Shock. Both. I pull her tighter, trying to share heat, and her head turns into my throat. Her lips brush my pulse point—accidental, meaningless, unconscious—and my cock doesn't care about any of those qualifiers. It pulses against my thigh and I let it. Nothing to do about it now.
"How much farther?" Renan asks.
"Four minutes." My voice sounds wrong. Distant. "Maybe three. Her ribs need attention. Someone needs to look at her throat. The cartilage might be—"
"Koshin."
"—could be damage to the trachea, could be swelling that closes her airway while we're walking, I should check, I should put her down and check—"
"Koshin." Renan's hand on my arm. Firm. "Her color's normal. The shaking is shock, not trauma. Keep walking. Four minutes."
I keep walking.
The second gate looms ahead—iron bars set into stone, rusted with age, thick enough to stop anything short of a god. My elites have already unlocked it. The bars swing open at my approach and close behind us with a heavy clang that echoes down the tunnel.
Discord territory. The air shifts. Warmer. The stone beneath my boots changes from natural formation to carved blocks, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Lanterns appear at regular intervals, gold light steady, and I walk faster.
Her body jerks hard against mine and a sound escapes her—small, pained, bitten off before it forms.
I stop.
My hand moves without permission, sliding from under her shoulders to cup the back of her skull. Her hair tangles around my fingers and I smooth it, thread through it, find the heat of her scalp. She's warm. She's real. She's here.
"You're safe." The words come out rough. Wrong. I've never said them to anyone. "You're in Discord. No one's going to touch you."
She doesn't wake, but the tension in her body loosens. The crease between her brows softens. Her head turns further into my palm, pressing into the contact, seeking it even in sleep.
"Touching," Renan says from behind me. "Really. Heartwarming. I might cry."
"You don't have tear ducts."
"Not anymore. You want to keep walking, or should I fetch a blanket and some candles?"
"Do we have candles?"
"Koshin."
I start walking. The private wing is ahead—no one else enters without my permission. No one except Renan has been inside in decades, and even he doesn't come often.
Iowyn will be the first. The first person I've brought here. The first person I've wanted in my space.
Renan reaches past me to open the door. "After you."
