Page 137 of Warlord's Plaything

Like we are the ones kneeling.

And the sick part?

He’s right.

Hira is stone beside me.

Silent.

Still.

But I can see it in the way her fingers twitch at her sides.

The way she won’t meet my gaze.

She knows.

Knows this moment was coming.

Knows what he’s about to say.

Knows that, no matter how much I hate it, we are out of options.

"You look like shit, warlord."

Menias' voice drips with amusement.

Like this is a fucking joke.

Like we aren’t standing in the rotting guts of our rebellion, bleeding and broken.

My blade is in my hand before I realize I’ve drawn it.

But Hira’s voice cuts through the atmosphere first.

"Don’t."

Just one word.

Flat. Cold. Like steel against my spine.

I don’t lower my weapon.

I don’t breathe.

I have never hated someone more than I hate him in this moment.

"You came here for a reason, Menias."

Hira’s voice is calm. Controlled.

It pisses me off.

I know her.

I know she wants to drive her fist into his face.

I know she wants to tear him apart, limb by limb, for daring to stand before us after everything.

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