Page 51 of Savage Crown

I don’t have any idea as to what Lartina is planning, but I have a feeling, she’s going to do something big. Nothing good can come out of it.

Hours ago, Rylan and I talked about trust. Can it even exist between us? I don’t think so.

I’m a thief, and he’s my so-called master. He’s a dark elf monster while I’m a slave, a mere human.

Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts. I jolt off my bed, almost lunging at the intruder.

“The master summons you, human,” a dark elf servant says, shuffling on his feet.

I frown, my instincts telling me this might be what I’ve been dreading for a while now.

I follow the servant silently. The moment I step inside his bedroom, I know.

Something is wrong.

Rylan stands near the fire, shoulders tense, his silhouette carved in flickering light. His hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles stark against the dark fabric of his sleeves. On the small table and sofa on the corner, there are papers scattered.

Letters. I have an inkling as to what is this about.

Rylan stays motionless, not turning around to see me.

Doesn’t speak.

But I feel it—the shift in the air, the weight pressing down on my lungs.

He’s angry.

No.

Worse than that.

He’s suspicious.

I inhale slowly, keeping my voice even. “You summoned me?”Again.I don’t say the last word, though.

The fire crackles.

Then—he turns.

And gods help me.

His emerald eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s a fire behind them, something dangerous and restrained.

Something that looks like a man at war with himself.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low, too calm, too sharp, “what exactly did Nhilian offer you?”

The words slam into me like a dagger to the gut.

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”

He steps forward. Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator circling its prey.

“Tell me, little thief,” he murmurs, “how much was my head worth?”

I stare at him, my pulse hammering, my mind racing.

Lartina.

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