Page 101 of Warlord's Plaything

Warlord.

King without a throne.

I shove the thought away, tilting my head back, staring at the jagged ceiling.

Get your shit together, Hira.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him.

I shouldn’t fucking care.

He’s a dark elf. A monster.

And yet—he’s in chains.

He’s going to die.

And that thought—that fucking thought—makes something inside me burn.

"You've finally showed your face. I was beginning to think you were dead."

The voice snaps me from my thoughts.

I blink, turning to see Varian standing a few feet away, arms folded.

Varian—the human warleader, one of the rebellion’s strongest voices.

He’s watching me too closely, like he sees the war I refuse to name.

"Didn’t know you cared,"I mutter, pushing off the wall.

"I don’t."His smirk is sharp."But I know when someone’s about to do something stupid."

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders, forcing the tension out of my bones.

"What do you want, Varian?"

"I want to know what the hell you’re thinking."

He steps closer, gaze hard, knowing.

"I know the warlord was captured."

My fingers twitch.

"Don’t call him that."

"Why? He's not a warlord anymore?"

Words elude me.

I don’t want to say anything.

Even I don’t know what I’m feeling.

And that makes me angry.

Varian studies me, then tilts his head.

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