Page 79 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

They never have.

Now, with the noble daughters on their way, they are ready to watch me fall.

The wooden blade is a solid weight in my grip.

"You want a fight, Jhoren?" I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Then fight me."

He barks a laugh, head tilting back slightly. “Fight you? You would not last two minutes.”

I am so tired of being underestimated.

The fury in my chest builds, hot and consuming, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

I don’t want to fight him.

I don’t want to fight any of them.

I want to fight him.

Xirath.

The rage is boiling over, my vision sharpening, a single unshakable thought forming amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

If he wants a mate, if he wants to claim one of them, he can face me first.

"I will challenge Xirath."

The words are out before I can take them back.

Silence crashes through the yard.

Jhoren blinks, stunned, and then he grins.

“Oh, this will be good,” he muses.

I stand before his door, muscles thrumming with the aftermath of too much emotion, too much rage curling like wildfire in my veins.

The training yard had erupted the moment my challenge left my lips. Naga warriors had gathered, murmuring, whispering, laughing.

They think this is amusing.

But this is not a game.

It is not a petty tantrum.

This is me choosing.

Before he can choose anyone else.

The doors swing open before I can knock.

Xirath stands there, golden eyes burning into me, his broad frame filling the entire threshold.

The silence is thick, suffocating.

His gaze scans me.

Not with hunger.

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