Page 145 of Warlord's Plaything

I don’t flinch.

I just exhale, steady and slow.

I don’t want to fight.

Not him.

Not now.

"You want to do this?"

Something thuds against the table between us.

A letter.

A small, dark vial.

My brows knit together.

"What is this?"

"Your fucking wake-up call."

The words are a low growl, guttural, a beast caged behind his ribs, tearing at the bars.

I frown, reaching for the parchment first.

The wax seal is broken, but the imprint is still clear.

My stomach turns.

Orc clan markings.

I don’t want to open it.

But I do.

"The deal is secured. The poison has been provided. Your warlord will not survive the month. When his son falls, you will rule the ashes. The chieftains agree to uphold their end of the agreement. Your victory is assured."

I feel like I’m drowning.

Like I’ve been thrown into deep waters, my lungs filling with salt, my limbs heavy.

"No."

A whisper.

A breath.

A denial that means nothing.

The words on this page aren’t a lie.

This is real.

They played me.

"They killed my father, Hira."

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