The tension intensifies, and suddenly - suddenly they're fighting.

A blast of air erupts from the silver's nostrils as she hisses, hard, the sound like air being released from a valve. Shit. They're fighting, and it's by no means a friendly spar. Even during her and Mauja's kerfuffle, he had launched damned ice spikes through her veins, so Cinnoru only knows what he will do to Lace. Or what Lace will do to him.

Shit, shit, shit. Both these men hold a warm place within her soul, and seeing them come to blows is a dozen times more painful than the ice Mauja summoned in her heart. Mauja is her king, and beneath all the spots and the racism and the icy bravado, she thinks he is a good man. A man to be respected, and a man she is proud to serve beneath. And Lace...he is her best friend. He makes her heart do things it shouldn't do, things she never lets herself register or acknowledge. She trusts him as her father trusted him, and she genuinely, truly wants him here with her, living in harmony with Mauja.

Instead they're killing each other.

And it's all her fault.

Like a car crash, she's unable to drag her gaze away from the battle. She's vaguely aware of another presence, and her head snaps round to focus on Black Hottie...oh, shit. Memories dance in front of her; a confrontation between he and Lace in front of the great glass wall, Nyx an innocent bystander. That had been the first time she saw the other side of Lace. Today, she has seen it again. Again, she is reminded of her sheer rank stupidity in bringing him here, into a land where not one but both leaders hate his guts. It's like bringing him into the den of a starving lion with raw meat draped around his neck, a pendant of destruction. What has she done?

It doesn't take long to see who is winning. She doesn't know who she wants to win. Can it be a draw, with them both acknowledging each other's strengths and finding the seeds of friendship from the mighty weed of hatred? Unlikely. When Lace transforms into a silver dragon, her ears pin and she recoils slightly, fear gripping her. So that is the monster her friend holds inside him, like a promise held tight to his heart. That is the beast he nurtures - and she chooses to think that is what drove him to antagonise Mauja until the ice king snapped.

When the dragon falls, it takes a while for her to register that the roar of anguish comes from her own throat. That it is her own hooves that beat a rhythm on the ground as they carry her towards the prone silver beast, completely disregarding the fact that this could well sign her death warrant in the eyes of her kings. She doesn't care, because Lace is hurt, or worse, and his fate is far more important than any punishment Mauja or Torleik could issue her. Please, Gods, don't let her error lead to the death of her best friend, please.

"Lace," she whispers as she reaches him. Is he alive? How the hell is she supposed to know? She doesn't know anything about the anatomy of the dragon except every single bit of it can kill you. She breathes cold air as she looks down on him, subconsciously shielding his prone frame from anybody who might try to finish him off - she doesn't realise the possible levity of the situation, that her defense of the fallen dragon could be seen as taking sides. She has no side, except the side of a woman who wants everybody to get along. A warrior she may be, but she is far more comfortable fighting nameless, faceless legions for the sake of her herd than she is standing against any of her few friends.