Page 18 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

I will remind them.

Seren is watching me. She thinks I will use force, that I will grab her, make her bow, shatter her into something pliable and obedient. That is not my way.

Control is not brute strength. It is patience. It is knowing when to strike and when to wait.

I am very, very good at waiting.

"Step back," I murmur.

Her breath hitches. Small, nearly imperceptible, but there.

She doesn't step back.

Instead, she lifts her chin. "I did not ask to be here."

A slow smirk pulls at my mouth. She is angry.

Good.

"It doesn't matter what you asked for," I say, voice even, low. "It matters what you are."

The muscles in her jaw tighten. "And what am I?"

I let the question hang between us, let it sink into her bones.

I step closer, slow, deliberate, ensuring she feels it before I even reach her.

I don't touch.

I don't have to.

The arena hums with anticipation, the gathered warriors murmuring, waiting. The fight has not yet begun, but their attention is already locked here. On us.

They are watching how she stands, watching how she doesn't bow.

Some are amused. Some impressed.

Some hungry.

I drag my gaze over the faces around us, their slitted eyes gleaming, their tongues flicking out, tasting the defiance still burning in her blood.

She doesn't see it.

But I do.

I tilt my head slightly, my tail curling lazily behind me. "You are being watched."

Her storm-gray eyes don't waver. "I am always being watched."

I chuckle. "Not like this."

I allow a slow glance around the gathered naga, ensuring she follows.

She does.

Her gaze flickers over them, registering their attention, the way their shoulders are squared, the way they weigh her presence, consider it, judge it.

Some of them, some of them think they could take her.

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