I locate Zeke among the floating figures and find him doing something that shouldn't be possible given the circumstances: reading a book.
The feline shifter has somehow arranged himself into something approaching a comfortable position despite the absence of anything to sit on, his body curled in the particular pose that cats achieve when they've decided their current location is acceptable regardless of what physics suggests about its suitability. A thick tome rests in his hands, pages turning with casual attention that suggests he's paying more attention to the text than to the chaos surrounding him.
How is he so calm?
How is he READING?
The boredom radiating from his posture somehow makes the entire situation feel even more absurd than it already is.
Mortimer's voice carries the particular frustration of someone whose patience has been exhausted several exchanges ago.
"Can we stop this foolishness," the dragon-blooded bond mate huffs, his usually composed features twisted with obvious annoyance. "Gwenievere is awake and clearly fine, which weknewshe would be."
The statement carries emphasis that suggests this argument has been made before—possibly multiple times—during whatever confrontation preceded my emergence.
Koishii giggles.
The sound is manic in ways that make my concern for his mental state intensify significantly.
"No," he declares, the single word carrying childish defiance that would be amusing if it weren't apparently backed by magic powerful enough to suspend multiple supernatural beings against their will. "You were all panicking that they were in Faerie and probably having alovelywedding ceremony."
Wedding ceremony?
He told them we were getting MARRIED?
Mortimer's blush is visible even through the chaos—heat climbing his cheeks with the particular intensity of someone whose emotions have been manipulated in ways they find embarrassing.
Atticus's response carries none of Mortimer's restraint.
"THAT'S WHAT YOU IMPLIED!" the blood mage roars, crimson energy flaring along his forearms with intensity that suggests he's seriously considering lethal retaliation regardless of the gravity situation.
Koishii shrugs with the particular insouciance of someone who feels no responsibility for the consequences of their actions.
"Well, that's your fault for trusting a trickster."
The statement lands with implications that make my teeth grind together.
A trickster.
He's been playing with them.
Deliberately winding them up while I was unconscious and vulnerable.
For what? Entertainment? Some Fae game I don't understand?
Cassius's voice cuts through my building irritation with the particular flatness of someone who has reached the end of their tolerance.
"Can we just kill him?"
The question is directed at no one in particular, but the weight behind it suggests genuine consideration rather than simple rhetorical frustration.
I huff.
"No."
The denial emerges before conscious thought can filter it through diplomatic consideration—instinct responding to threat against someone my magic apparently considersmine, regardless of what my conscious mind thinks about the complicated bond that connects us.
"You can't kill Koishii."
