Page 118 of Claimed In Darkness

A noble once, by the look of him.

But nobility means nothing in this world. A noble without power is good for nothing.

I let the silence stretch, let it linger, let my gaze settle over them like an axe against their throats.

I do not feel fear.

I should.

But I don’t know how anymore.

They speak like they’ve already won.

"Naira," the old man says, his voice smooth, practiced.

Not condescending.

Not cruel.

Worse.

Patient.

Like he is addressing a child who does not yet understand their place in the world.

Like he is waiting for me to fall in line.

I lean my head just slightly to the side, feeling the shift in the air, the slow curl of power still humming beneath my skin.

I wonder—do they know what they are looking at?

Do they see it?

Do they feel the relic inside me, feel the thing that is no longer bound by flesh and bone, feel the power that has been slowly unraveling me from my core?

They should.

But they don’t.

They are still standing here.

That is their first mistake.

"Your crimes are extensive," the man continues, still smooth, still patient.

As if I don’t already know what they think of me.

As if I don’t already know why they are here.

"Theft. Murder. Conspiracy against the ruling class. Treason against the High Council. Your execution is long overdue."

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes.

"But we are prepared to offer you another option."

I almost laugh.

Instead, I arch a brow, shifting my weight onto my back foot, feeling the dagger in my palm, the familiar weight of it resting against my skin.

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