Page 21 of Warlord's Plaything

I already know the outcome.

But I don’t think they do.

I lean forward slightly.

Show me what you’ll do, little warrior.

The signal is given.

Her opponent lunges?—

And Hira does nothing.

The arena goes silent.

A moment too long.

A breath too heavy.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t lift her fists.

Doesn’t reach for the dagger strapped to her thigh.

She stands perfectly still, arms loose at her sides, unfazed.

My fingers tighten around the armrest.

Oh, you clever little thing.

The brute hesitates, momentarily confused. Then he lunges again, his blade whistling through the air.

She sidesteps, effortless, lazy.

He swings. She ducks.

But she doesn’t fight back.

She’s making a fucking spectacle of this.

The crowd erupts.

Boos. Shouts. Angry, drunken jeers.

The announcer stammers, voice cracking. This isn’t supposed to happen.

I watch her—closely, carefully.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She knows they expect her to fight.

She knows they expect her to obey.

And she’s giving them nothing.

A noble rises from his seat, furious.

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