Page 26 of Warlord's Plaything

Just to piss him off.

It works.

His pupils blow wide, his fingers tightening, just for a second.

Then he yanks away like I burned him.

"You’re making mistakes, Hira."

He moves, circling me now, slow, measured.

Like he’s studying a problem he hasn’t figured out how to solve yet.

"You think you can control this?" His voice is a slow drawl. "You think you can push me?"

I don’t have to answer.

We both know the truth.

I already fucking have.

Xyron exhales, long and slow, then gestures toward the room’s massive stone balcony, where the night air rolls in, cool and thick with the stench of burning torches from the lower pits.

"Come here," he orders.

I don’t move.

His gaze sharpens.

"That wasn’t a request, little warrior."

I should resist.

Should hold my ground.

But I don’t.

Not I obey him—never that.

I want to know what the fuck he’s playing at.

So I step forward, slow, deliberate, matching his unwavering stare.

The tension coils tight as I stop beside him, the cold stone railing pressing against my hands.

"Look," he says, nodding toward the lower courtyard.

I do.

And my stomach twists.

The gladiators are gathered below.

The ones who have been whispering in the dark. The ones I have been building something with.

They’re training.

At least, that’s what it looks like at first.

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