Page 11 of Naga General's Mate

The words hung in the air between them—another reminder of how precarious their lives were. How easily they could be separated.

“At least we’re still together.” Priscilla squeezed her hand.

Mila squeezed back, the evidence chip burning against her leg. She had to find a way to use it without risking Priscilla. She had to.

Later that day, the marble floor gleamed under Mila’s brush strokes, her knees aching against the hard surface. Sweat trickled down her back as she worked.

Heavy boots echoed down the corridor. Strange—the guards never patrolled this wing during cleaning hours.

“You. Get up.”

The gruff voice made her stomach clench. Three of Kurg’s personal guards loomed over her, their faces twisted in identical sneers.

“Is something wrong?” Mila kept her voice steady, careful to maintain her submissive pose.

“Master Kurg wants to see you.” The tallest guard grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. The brush clattered to the floor.

“Wait, I need to finish—”

“Shut up.” His claws dug into her skin.

The second guard seized her other arm. Their grip crushed her biceps as they marched her down the corridor, her feet barely touching the ground.

“Please, what’s this about?” Her heart hammered against her ribs.

A sharp shake made her teeth rattle. “Said shut up, slave.”

They dragged her past startled house servants and through winding hallways she’d never seen before. The opulent décor grew more elaborate with each turn—crystal chandeliers, gilt-framed mirrors, plush carpets that swallowed their footsteps.

Did he know? Had someone seen her in the comm room? The chip felt like it was burning through her dress.

The third guard walked behind them, his presence a looming threat. “Boss says this one’s been snooping around.”

Mila’s blood turned to ice.

They turned down another corridor, this one lined with security cameras tracking their progress. The grip on her arms tightened until she couldn’t feel her fingers.

“Almost there, little spy.” The guard’s breath was hot against her ear. “Master Kurg’s been wanting to chat with you.”

The guards shoved Mila through ornate double doors into Kurg’s office. The scent of expensive cigars and leather assaulted her nose. Behind a massive desk carved from rare bloodwood, Kurg’s bulk filled an oversized chair.

“So.” Kurg’s voice cut through the silence. “Care to explain why you accessed my private communication terminal?”

Her mouth went dry. “Master, I-I was just cleaning the comm room—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fist slammed the desk. “The logs show someone accessed restricted files.”

“The screen lit up when I was dusting.” Mila kept her eyes on the plush carpet. “I must have brushed against something. I didn’t mean—”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Cold sweat trickled down Mila’s back. The guards’ grip tightened on her arms.

“I would never dare to—” Her voice cracked. “Please, master. I’m just a helpless slave.”

Kurg’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “A helpless slave who’s suddenly very interested in my private affairs.”

“No, master.” The words tumbled out. “I only clean where I’m told. I don’t know anything about—”

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