Page 71 of Warlord's Plaything

I shove away from him, turning my back before he can see the crack in my mask.

I need to breathe.

I need to get out of this room before I lose control.

I don’t see his expression, but I feel the shift in the air.

The knowing amusement.

The fucking certainty.

"You can say something else to yourself, lie all you want, Hira."His voice is quiet, too close, too fucking deep."But you can’t lie to me."

24

XYRON

The grand hall of House Herox is drenched in decadence, laced with poison.

The aroma of aged wine and burning incense hangs thick in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. Dark elves, highborns, and political snakes dressed in their most opulent deception move through the space with practiced ease, each step a calculated maneuver.

This is not a gathering.

It’s a fucking war field in silk.

And tonight, I play the game.

My eyes sweep the room, scanning the faces that watch me too closely. Some hide their intent behind polite smiles, some don’t bother at all. Valis is among them, smirking into his goblet. Kaelith stands near the council’s inner circle, speaking in low tones to one of the war strategists.

They’re waiting.

For me to make a mistake.

For me to prove that I am slipping.

For me to show that I am no longer the untouchable warlord they fear.

They think they see cracks.

They think they smell blood.

They think wrong.

"She doesn’t belong here."

A whisper, low and scathing, reaches my ears.

A noble, one of the lesser lords, sneering toward the far side of the room.

My gaze follows his line of sight.

And then I see her.

Hira.

She stands near the balcony, shoulders squared, head high, body wrapped in a dress far too elegant for the bloodthirsty creature inside it.

The dark fabric clings to her in ways that should be illegal, the deep slit along her leg exposing bronzed skin and battle scars. Her hair is braided back, but loose strands fall along her face, wild and untamed, just like her.

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