Page 115 of Warlord's Plaything

I focus on the bastard standing in front of me—the one who just dropped that little fucking bomb on me.

Varian.

His face is calm, too calm, too fucking smug.

I want to rip that expression right off.

"Say that again."My voice is razor-edged, low, deadly.

He raises his head, unimpressed.

"Tomorrow at sundown. They moved it up. Seems the Council doesn’t want him lingering in the cells any longer than necessary."

Something inside me snaps.

The chair behind me crashes to the ground as I move, fast, too fast.

Before I can think, I slam Varian against the wall, forearm crushing into his throat.

His smirk vanishes.

Good.

"And when were you planning on telling me?"

He doesn’t answer.

The fucker just grins again, lips curling like this is funny.

Like my blood isn’t on fucking fire.

"The fuck do you care, Hira?"He exhales a short laugh."You still have a choice. You still have your precious deal with the orcs, don’t you?"

That makes me press harder.

He grunts, fingers twitching against my arm.

"I care,"I growl."If he dies, we all fucking lose."

Varian’s golden-brown eyes narrow.

"Funny."He chokes out a breath."Sounds personal."

It is.

It fucking is.

But I can’t say that.

There’s no way I can admit it.

Admitting that Xyron isn’t just another pawn, just another warlord who needs saving?

That would be dangerous.

And I can’t afford weakness.

Not now.

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