Page 27 of Warlord's Plaything

But I see it for what it really is.

A test.

Xyron is watching them.

Watching me.

He turns to me then, and the flickering torchlight makes his golden gaze look molten.

"You're not the first to try this, you know."

I stiffen.

He smiles, slow and sharp. "I could stop you right now. Have them all executed in the sand."

My pulse spikes.

He leans in. "But I won’t."

I grip the railing so hard my knuckles turn white.

"And why the fuck not?" I grind out.

His lips brush just close enough to feel.

"I want to see what you’ll do next."

If he thinks I’ll back down now… He doesn’t know me at all.

10

XYRON

The war room of House Herox is built like a fortress within a fortress—thick stone walls, high ceilings, carved reliefs of past victories painted in shadow and silver.

I stand at the head of the obsidian table, the council gathered before me.

They’re restless. The aura of tension is thick.

Old men, high generals, bureaucrats with too much power and not enough spine, shifting in their silks, sipping aged wine and pretending they aren’t discussing how best to kill a woman who doesn’t know her place.

I say nothing as they speak.

Let them dig their own fucking graves.

"The slaves whisper more than usual."

Councilor Valis sneers, drumming his fingers against the table. "They think themselves emboldened."

"They are emboldened," another snaps. "We know who to blame for that."

The room shifts, attention dragging toward me.

I lean back in my chair, lazily stretching my fingers against the cool stone armrest.

"Say what you mean," I murmur.

Councilor Dathis stiffens, throat working around words he doesn’t want to choke on.

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