Qeya River that wears the crown

blackfell’s tail flicked sharply against the ground, the only outward sign of his irritation as star eater worked. her words were met with a scoff, a faint curl of his lip betraying his disdain for the notion of vulnerability.

i am not weak because of a cut, he snapped, crimson eyes narrowing as he glared at her from under the weight of her care. but before he could lift his head in defiance, she shoved it back down; his teeth grit together, though he made no move to resist her.

i could cut down this realm's finest knight even now, he muttered, the edge of his tone sharpened with frustration. anyone who questions saatsine will find my teeth in their ass.

a dangerous promise, uttered with the quiet conviction of a man who had nothing left to lose. as the moss was pressed firmly against his wounds, blackfell exhaled through his nose, the tension in his frame easing by a fraction. a wise wolf doesn’t make an enemy of a crownore. he refused to relinquish the weight of his pride.

but it was not only pride that spoke now. it was years of history, of legacy. it was truth—and this woman knew it.