Page 16 of Warlord's Plaything

I take a slow step toward her, and the crowd parts like shadows.

The heat between us is immediate.

"You’ve been busy," I murmur.

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. "Have I?"

I glance at Dagen, who shifts beside her—like a dog circling his fucking master. His scarred face is unreadable, but the tension in his stance is clear.

"Making allies," I continue, lowering my voice as I move closer. "Whispering in the dark. And here I thought you were just trying to survive."

"Survival looks different for all of us, doesn’t it?"

Her voice is smooth, but there’s steel beneath it.

I step closer. Deliberate. Slow. Measured.

She doesn’t move.

"And what exactly is it you’re surviving, Hira?"

She exhales slowly, nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Then she smiles—a slow, wicked thing that shouldn’t look so good on a slave.

"You."

The room goes silent.

A dark, sharp thrill slides through my blood, low and vicious.

Gods.

She doesn’t just defy me—she enjoys it.

I move fast.

One moment I’m watching her, the next—I have her pinned against the wall.

A sharp inhale. Her back collides with the wall, but she doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she grins up at me like she’s already won.

I press in, caging her. Letting her feel my body, my heat, my breath brushing over her skin.

"Try again,"I murmur, voice a low rasp.

Her hands come up, palms against my chest, not to push me away—but to test.

To see how far she can go.

I let her.

This is about the game.

"You think they’ll follow you?" I whisper, my lips just a breath away from her ear.

She shudders—fucking shudders—but masks it quick, lifting her chin.

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