Page 96 of Warlord's Plaything

"You think he’d spare you? You think he was anything more than a fucking killer?"

I don’t blink.

I don’t breathe.

I can’t believe it.

Not Xyron.

Not the warlord who fought for his father’s respect, who stood at his side despite the vipers in the Council.

Not the man who, last night, had looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this fucking world.

Not him.

"Bullshit,"I snarl, voice steadier now.

I twist, lashing out.

A sharp crack—my knee slams into the soldier’s ribs.

He stumbles.

I grab his dagger—steel flashes in my hand.

Another lunges for me—I duck, strike, spin.

Blood sprays across the silk-draped bed.

Bodies crash to the ground.

I don’t stop.

I can’t fucking afford to stop.

The moment I stop, this nightmare becomes real.

And I’m not ready for that.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air.

Pain explodes through my scalp as a soldier rips me back by my hair.

I grunt, slashing wildly, but another soldier grabs my arm, twisting it until my joints scream.

"Enough!"

The grip tightens.

"You will come quietly, or I will carve the defiance from your fucking bones."

I snarl, spitting blood, heart pounding.

Quiet?

Never.

I snap my head back—bone meets flesh.

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