Page 100 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

But so am I.

Seren’s trail is fresh.

She’s near.

I wipe my blades clean on the tunic of a dead elf, my mind already shifting to the next move.

I will find her.

When I do, I will never let her go again.

43

SEREN

The carriage lurches to a stop, jolting me out of restless thoughts. The road had been smooth moments ago, the steady rocking enough to lull me into momentary peace, but the sudden halt sends a ripple of unease down my spine.

The murmuring voices of the merchants outside shift, transforming from idle chatter to hushed, sharp-edged whispers. I sit up, pulse hammering, and pull the curtain of the carriage window just enough to peer through the slit.

Dark elf soldiers.

Dread hits me like a falling stone.

Not just any dark elves.

Jalith's men.

They stand in a loose formation, their black armor absorbing the last slivers of moonlight, their features unreadable. Predators among prey.

One of them steps forward, gloved fingers curling around the merchant leader’s collar before yanking him down into the dirt.

The squat man with graying hair stammers out a greeting, his words shaky and placating, but Jalith’s soldiers say nothing. They are not here for negotiations.

A woman shrieks.

The soldiers move. Methodical. Unforgiving.

One by one, they begin dragging people out, shoving them onto their knees.

They’re searching for someone.

They’re searching for me.

I pressmyself against the wooden panels of the carriage, willing myself to disappear.

If I make myself small enough, if I stay still, perhaps?—

A slow, deliberate laugh slithers through the air, smooth as poisoned silk.

Jalith.

"My little runaway," he murmurs, his tone edged with satisfaction. "You’ve led me on quite the chase."

The sound of his voice is a dagger in my gut.

He found me.

The merchants tremble before him, heads bowed, shoulders curled inward. Jalith’s presence demands submission without a single spoken order.

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