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Crick slips inside, head lowered slightly in deference. His mismatched scales gleam in the low lamplight. “All doors are locked, gates sealed,” he reports. “Rahlazen is confined to the eastern guest room with guards posted outside. He’s moaning, but your venom dose isn’t lethal.”

I nod. “Good.”

Crick hesitates, stepping closer. “What do you plan to do about the council’s inevitable interest?”

I sigh, leaning forward. “Let them come. I’ll handle it.”

He nods, though worry flickers in his slitted eyes. “Understood. Also, the staff is…uneasy. They’ve never seen you strike a noble unprovoked.”

The room feels colder by the second. “Then they will learn that I have no tolerance for certain behavior,” I mutter. “I won’t allow a visitor to degrade my domain.”

Crick’s gaze flicks momentarily toward the door. “So this is about your domain, not just the human?”

A flash of annoyance sparks in my chest. “You overstep,” I warn, voice soft with threat.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’m just clarifying. If that’s all, I’ll be back to my rounds.”

I wave a dismissive hand, and he retreats. The door closes behind him with a muted thump. My tail curls tighter around my legs, a sign of lingering agitation. I can’t deny that his question plants a seed of doubt in my mind. Did I truly act out of a sense of territory, or was it purely for her?

Night deepens, and I remain in the chamber, occasionally rising to pace.

The distant call of a jungle creature seeps through the window, reminding me that I am far from the High Nest’s polished marbles and gilded halls.

This jungle estate has become my fortress of solitude, a place of self-imposed retreat from the tangled politics of my race.

But with Rahlazen’s arrival—and the violent display at dinner—those politics have found me again.

Eventually, I slip into an adjacent room that serves as a small study.

Shelves of scrolls and books line the walls, containing knowledge gleaned from across Protheka.

I retrieve a half-burned candle and light it, placing it on a table.

The flickering glow illuminates a battered journal detailing venom-brewing techniques.

My eyes skim the text, though concentration fails me.

Images of Mira intrude, her subdued manner, the quiet dignity that refused to let Rahlazen break her.

That swirl of defiance and submission seems to define her, and it burrows into my thoughts.

A memory returns: the quiet spark that lit her gaze when she thought no one was watching.

It drives me mad that I notice these subtleties, as if she’s become an obsession I can’t shrug off.

I slam the book shut, cursing under my breath.

As the house remains on lockdown, the staff is likely whispering about what just transpired.

Tomorrow, I will have to show a measured hand in controlling the fallout.

But for tonight, I seethe in private, wrestling with the realization that I have indeed changed the game for myself, and for her.

She’s no longer an anonymous presence in my household.

She was singled out by a visiting noble—and I made it clear that no one touches her without facing my wrath.

A single action has broadcast to everyone that she isn’t simply another human in my domain.

The council, once they learn of this, will doubtless interpret my defense of her as a sign of taboo involvement. That will not end well.

I pace again, tail swishing behind me, the candlelight making my shadow stretch long across the walls.

A bitter laugh escapes me. I built these walls to keep the rest of the world out, but one moment of fury might bring them all crashing in.

And I can’t even pretend regret, because if Rahlazen had so much as laid a finger on her, the consequences might have been far bloodier.

At length, I slump into a chair, tail curling around the base.

The hush weighs on me, broken only by my slow breathing.

Despite my resolve, I can’t escape the memory of Mira standing in the candlelight, the fear in her expression edged with a fierce kind of dignity.

I suspect that beneath her quiet exterior, she carries more bravery than she herself realizes.

And that realization stirs an ache I don’t have words for.

I run my claws through my hair, loosening the tie that held it back.

The strands fall around my face, brushing my shoulders.

My reflection flickers in the window’s dark glass, revealing the gold glint of my slitted eyes.

For a long moment, I stare at that reflection, recalling what I used to be before exile—an heir to a proud line, a warlord trained in cunning and strength.

Now I’m a recluse lashing out at a visiting noble over a human maid.

A quiet knock at the door startles me. “Come,” I say curtly, straightening.

The door opens just enough for Sahrine to step in. She closes it behind her, the hiss of the latch echoing. “He’s stable,” she announces, referring to Rahlazen. “He’s cursing your name but doesn’t appear to be dying.”

I nod, saying nothing.

She glides closer. “You’ve placed the estate on full lockdown. Should I deny him any request for a courier?”

“Absolutely. No messages leave here until I decide otherwise.”

Sahrine’s blind eyes regard me, her voice softening. “It’s a bold stance. The council will see it as aggression.”

I grit my teeth. “I will deal with the council in time.”

She hesitates, then quietly adds, “The staff is speaking of Mira. They sense something about her status is different now.”

My pulse pounds. “She is a servant,” I insist. “Nothing more.”

Sahrine dips her head, though I sense skepticism. “If that’s your stance. But the lines are drawn. You made that clear.”

Anger and frustration coil in my gut. “Yes, well, let them whisper. I have no interest in clarifying anything.”

She grants a small nod, perhaps reading the tension in my body heat. Then she leaves me to my brooding, shutting the door behind her with gentle finality.

Alone again, I exhale a shuddering breath.

Everything has changed in the span of one dinner.

The hush of my manor no longer carries the solace it once did.

Now it echoes with the knowledge that I’ve publicly challenged naga customs by defending a human so violently.

The staff must be wondering if they can trust me to keep them safe, or if I’ve ignited a conflict that could burn us all.

My thoughts inevitably return to Mira. How did she interpret my actions?

Does she see me as a beast succumbing to monstrous impulses, or did she feel some measure of relief that I refused to let Rahlazen degrade her?

I might never ask. The risk of forging any deeper connection with her feels too great.

Rising from the chair, I pace to the window.

Outside, the night sky sprawls over the jungle, stars glimmering behind low clouds.

The estate walls stand in silhouettes, locked gates ensuring no one enters or leaves.

My reflection in the glass reveals a man—no, a naga—haunted by decisions that never seem straightforward.

A swirl of conflicting emotions tears at me, and I know the council’s wrath will come soon enough.

Yet a treacherous corner of my mind welcomes this confrontation.

If they challenge me, let them see I am no longer their tame warlord, dancing to the strings of aristocratic politics.

Let them witness how fiercely I defend what’s mine—with lethal resolve.

And in that moment, I realize that I’ve already begun to count Mira as something I claim.

The admission sends a dark thrill through my veins, followed by a pang of dread.

I remain at the window until the lamp’s flame gutters and darkness claims the study.

The hush deepens, and I press my palm against the cool glass.

My decision is made, for better or worse.

I will shield her from any further insult, no matter the cost. And if the council demands retribution, so be it.

She may be a servant, but she is mine. Even as I wrestle with the shame of that possessiveness, I cannot deny its hold on me.

Shadows swirl in the corners of the room, merging with the unspoken vow that resonates in my chest. Whatever storms lie ahead, I will face them before allowing another to lay a hand on her.

And that choice, I suspect, has set the course of my exile on a collision path with the powers that once banished me.