Page 18 of The Brute and the Blade

But I have eyes only for Marak, for the growing fear and horrified realization contorting his battle-scarred features. He knows what's coming, knows the price of his transgression. And from the sour stink of his terror, the quaking of his limbs...

He knows he will not survive it.

"P-please, my lord," he babbles, dropping to his knees in supplication, his hands raised in desperate entreaty. "Mercy, I beg you. I spoke in anger, in bloodlust, I didn't mean?—"

"You meant every word," I snarl, my hand falling to the hilt of my greatsword, the black blade rasping from its sheath with the finality of a tolling bell. "You have questioned my judgment, my strength, my very right to lead. And you. Will. Answer for it."

I raise the sword high, the firelight dancing along its razor edge, the promise of a swift and brutal death. Marak gibbers and cowers, his bowels loosening with fear, his face a mask of sniveling terror.

But before I can bring the blade down, before I can separate his treacherous head from his spineless body...a small hand falls on my forearm, gentle but insistent.

"Wait," Lily says softly, and the single word is like a key turning in a lock, a cool draft of sanity amidst the roaring flames of my fury.

I pause, the sword halting in its downward arc, and turn to look at her. She meets my gaze steadily, her eyes calm and clear, a deep well of wisdom belied by her youthful features.

"Don't kill him," she murmurs, pitching her voice for my ears alone. "He's a fool, an arrogant braggart, but he's still your warrior, your clan brother. His death will not bind this clan closer to you...only drive the wedge of resentment and fear deeper."

I stare at her, my breath coming hard and fast, my pulse pounding with the barely leashed need for violence. She's right. I know she's right. A warlord must be strong, must command respect and obedience...but he must also know mercy, know when to stay his hand and spare a life for the greater good of the clan.

Even when every fiber of his being screams for blood.

Slowly, with a supreme effort of will, I lower my sword, the blade dipping towards the ground, the promise of death receding like a dark tide. Marak sags in relief, a broken sob escaping his lips as he grovels at my feet.

"You are fortunate, Marak," I say coldly, looking down at his wretched, sniveling form with utter contempt. "Fortunate that my Red Blade is wiser and more merciful than I. For her sake, and the sake of clan unity...I will spare your miserable life."

A discontented rumble goes through the crowd at my words, the warriors shifting and muttering, their eyes darting between me and Lily with a mix of confusion and simmering anger. I can feel their doubt, their disdain, the unspoken accusation that I have grown soft, weak, unfit to lead.

And that...that, I can not allow. Not if I wish to keep my throne, my clan, my very life.

I must make them see, make them understand the truth of what Lily is to me, what she means to the future of the Bloodclaw. I must claim her, openly and unequivocally, in a way that leaves no room for doubt or dissent.

I must make her...my queen.

I sheathe my sword with a decisive snap, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent hall like a thunderclap. Then, without a word, I turn on my heel and stride back to the high table, back to the massive throne of blackened bone and beast-hide.

But I do not take my seat. Instead, I prowl around to the front of the throne, my movements slow and deliberate, my eyes sweeping the assembled warriors with an intensity that makes them flinch and look away.

"You think me weak," I say softly, my voice carrying to every corner of the hall despite its low volume. "You think me compromised, unfit to lead, because I have taken a human female as my consort. You think she has made me soft, pliant, a slave to her whims and wiles."

I reach out and grab Lily's wrist, yanking her roughly to my side. She yelps in surprise, stumbling against me, but I wrap a steely arm around her waist, holding her firm.

"But you are mistaken," I growl, my voice hardening to a ruthless edge. "This female is not my weakness. She is my strength, my sharpest blade, the steel that hones my fury to a killing point."

I spin Lily to face me, one hand fisting in her hair, the other splayed possessively over the small of her back. "Isn't that right, little human?" I rumble, loud enough for all to hear. "You are mine to command, mine to master. You submit to me in all things...don't you?"

I feel her stiffen in my arms, her eyes flashing with defiance. But then I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. "Play along, fierce one," I breathe, for her alone. "Let them see your surrender, your devotion. Trust me..."

There's a beat, a breathless pause where I fear she will rebel, will balk at this bold claiming. But then she melts against me, her body softening, yielding, one hand coming up to flutter at my chest.

"Yes, my lord," she says demurely, her lashes lowering, though I don't miss the tiny quirk of her lips. "I am yours to command...in all things."

A raucous cheer goes up from the assembled warriors at her words, fists and tankards pounding the tables in approval. I feel a savage grin stretch my lips, both at their reaction and the slow simmer of Lily's arousal, the scent of her need rising to tease my nostrils.

"That's my good girl," I praise loudly, my hand sliding from her hair to grip her throat, lightly but with clear threat. "My obedient little mate. And now...I think it's time you showed the clan just how deep that obedience runs."

Without warning, I sit upon my throne, the blackened bone creaking beneath my weight. Lily blinks at me, a question in her eyes, but I merely crook a finger at her, a silent command.

The throne room falls silent, the crackle of the great hearth and the heavy breathing of the watching warriors the only sounds. The air is thick with tension, with anticipation, every eye fixed on the delicate human female standing before the warlord's throne.

---