Page 121 of Warlord's Plaything

Time blurs.

I don’t know how long we stay like this—tangled, burning, consuming.

But I know this.

She didn’t betray me.

She wouldn’t.

This is not the touch of a woman who has given up on me.

This is not the mouth of someone who has chosen another.

This is mine.

And if I die tomorrow, I will die knowing that.

I will die knowing she is still mine. Even if it fucking destroys me.

39

HIRA

The taste of him is still on my lips.

The heat of his body lingers on my skin, a brand I don’t have time to think about, but fuck, I feel it.

My heart pounds in my chest as I move through the tunnels, my steps swift, silent.

I can still smell him on me.

It makes something dark coil in my stomach, something sharp and possessive—something that doesn’t belong here, not now, not when he’s still in chains.

I need to move.

I need to focus.

By sundown, they will put a blade to his throat, and I will burn this fucking world down before I let that happen.

The tunnels are quieter than they should be.

My breath is too loud in my ears.

The flickering torches cast shadows against the walls, twisting, shifting—like the darkness itself is watching.

Like it knows what’s about to happen.

Like it’s waiting for the slaughter.

I slide through the narrow opening leading to the upper levels, stepping into the bowels of the territory like a ghost.

The above are already buzzing with tension.

I can hear it in the murmurs of the crowds.

I can feel it in the way the territory breathes—shallow, uneven, waiting.

They are preparing for a show.

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