Blood boils beneath his veins, teeth clench and grind like boulders, anger simmers like lava in his entire being. The incident with Lace is like a sharp smear of acid across his mind, and he cannot rid himself of it. Words would be exchanged should Lace ever speak to him in such a manner again. Or perhaps even blows. Kaj was not a fucking dog to be talked down to, and if Lace was fucking around with Mirage, then Kaj would spit at their feet and leave. He would not be ruled by hormones and lust. He had not taken Mirage to be the type to be spat in the face, like when Lace had left so suddenly, nor had he expected her to be a weak mistress when she'd greeted him with open arms and the title he'd left with when he'd pranced back into the borders. Kaj knew little else aside from Lace's constant change of rank, his abandonment and betrayal, and his back ached from the knife that had been planted there with a cheeky grin and a foul word of departure. Kaj despised foul bastards like Lace and Tor. You never abandoned your family. You must be torn from them kicking and screaming, or chased away from them like an intruder before you ever thought of leaving them. If you could so easily sever ties with the brethren you had lived with, bled with, slept with...they were never your family in the first place.

When Mirage's call rang across the mists, Kaj sharply turned on hoof and strode towards it with electric rage in his eyes. Even his respites to the giving tree and the marble caves had not dwindled his anger. Something hot and flinty was in his veins, something he'd felt since he'd encountered the giving tree, but not a thing he had yet to discover or put a name to. Despite his attempt to slow down, cool his head while waiting, it did nothing but make him late to a meeting he dreaded being at in the first place. Deep inside, he knew this was make it or break it, and he had a feeling he would be the one struck down tonight. In the end he had been right to dread it, for Mirage spat poisonous words dripped in honey, and Kaj could only conceal his voice until she attempted to placate Nato.

"Do not lie to him!" He yells out, if only to cut across the other voices. He stands in the back, an imposing, massive presence. His veins jump about like shockwaves, but it goes unnoticed in his anger, his disbelief. "Equality! You put upon the throne a brute who has left us, stabbed us from behind, only to come back pleading for forgiveness! You give him back his title as kin of the mists, and then grant him a crown upon his head! The Dragonheart of a few seasons past did not react in such a way to Tor!" Rage envelopes him like a red shawl, and his eyes lock with his Weyrleader. Striding forward like a cougar he is slow and lean, and his body ripples, scarred by the foe he encountered to earn his title. And what had Lace done to earn his?!

"But a few moons ago, your precious Lace displayed his true colors as a violent racist! Ask Kahlua, Evangeline, whomever you must if you refuse to believe me when I have never spoken ill of anyone before. He had his dragon swoop upon a defenseless babe of a companion, intimidated and blatantly threatened someone who had not crossed the borders, and instead was intrigued by our defenses! Even if he had been a threat, the fellow made it clear, in a respectful manner in regards to how he was being treated, that he did not want anything more than to marvel over something we, as well, are proud of!" Overhead clouds gather, the mists are whipped up, and his mane starts to stand on end in his anger. Across his flesh tiny sparks appear, but his eyes are locked on those of Mirage, everything else fades away, and he cannot focus on anything more than his anger. Kaj was always a level-headed brute. He rarely if ever raised his voice, unless he deigned it necessary, and he was kindly to every soul that crossed his path. This was unlike him, true, but he knew it was him to the core.

"I do not believe you, Mirage. I cannot. You set on the throne a blatant racist, one who has shown to be such in the eyes of three who stand before you, one who goes against the wishes of the Qian. You crown him when his position was forever changing, given up by him repeatedly. Where has he been, then? Why has he not been involved until now, why does he not stand by us as the GentleHeart did? Why did he abandon us, if he is so loyal to us? If he is such a good soul, why did he not show it when it mattered, when it dealt with a passerby who could have influenced all our treaties? Tell me this!" The storm is released, and he is the conductor to an electrical strike that pours seemingly from nowhere, his entire body alight with blue-white light that flares all around him. Only at the last second does he contain it, frightened by the sudden appearance of magic he didn't even know he had, wanting to protect his brethren from any side effects. His heart is racing. Backing away he shakes his head, wanting desperately for his eyes to run in terror from Kahlua, to Resplendence, to Quilyan and Destrier. Oh by the Gods, he's ruined everything by opening a mouth normally forever sewn shut. Everyone always wondered why he was such a quiet soul. It was because it all bottled up eventually, each glass holding a different emotion, and when it became too full it burst like a bomb with shrapnel tucked inside. With more positive emotions, it was a good thing; rapture, joy, love. With negative emotions- anger, injustice, sorrow- it was a devastating blow.

Was he going to lose all the family he had, because of this? His voice wanted to shake but it came out clear, if defeated.

"I do not know why you crown someone so unfit, DragonHeart. But my loyalty is only to you. I will never bend knee nor head for someone who is a traitor in my eyes." He swallows around the lump in his throat, but it doesn't disperse. In fact it seems to clot up further, persisting, choking him in his own despair. "Punish me as you see fit. If we are supposedly equal in this land of ours, I will speak what I feel is true in my heart and mind. If my loyalty lying with only one crown displeases you...I cannot comfort or reassure you in any way." Eyes go dead, stormclouds disappear as if they had never been, and he steps back as far as he can from the crowd, pale coat blending with the mists, waiting for the anvil to fall.