Page 19 of Warlord's Plaything

I don’t flinch.

"And?"

Sella tilts her head. "And he got bold. Thought he could win the favor of a dark elf noble. Thought he could make a difference. Thought he was safe."

Something cold trickles down my spine.

I already know how this story ends.

"He wasn’t safe," I murmur.

Sella smiles. But it’s a dead thing.

"They let him believe he had power. Let him think he was close." She leans against the almost freezing stone wall. "Then, one night, they dragged him from his chambers and flayed him alive in front of the court."

I swallow.

Fuck.

"They left his body in the pits for days," Sella continues, eyes locking onto mine like she’s daring me to argue. "A warning."

The silence stretches.

I don’t break it.

Finally, I smirk. "Good thing I’m not stupid enough to think any of us are safe."

Dagen mutters something under his breath, rubbing his temples. "You’re insane."

"Yeah," I say, stretching out my sore muscles. "But at least I’m fun."

Sella snorts.

Dagen? He looks like he wants to strangle me.

"Seriously, Hira. You think you can outplay a fucking warlord?"

I turn to him, slow, deliberate. "I think I already have."

His eyes darken. "How the fuck do you figure that?"

I take a step closer. "Did he punish me?"

Dagen’s brows knit together. "What?"

"Did he punish me?" I repeat.

Silence.

Realization flickers behind his gaze.

"No," he finally mutters.

"Exactly."

I smirk, stepping past him, heading for my cot.

"He wants to see what I’ll do next," I murmur over my shoulder. "He thinks he’s the one in control." I glance back, lips curling into something sharp. "He’s wrong."

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