Page 38 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

I am not afraid.

I am alive.

The realization makes me reckless.

I lunge harder, my swing aimed for his exposed ribs.

He catches my wrist before the blade can land, claws pressing enough to show me the difference between our strengths.

My breath comes hard, my body humming with exertion, but I do not look away from him.

Neither does he.

“You enjoyed that,” he murmurs.

I should deny it.

Instead, I twist my arm free, stepping back with a slow smile curling my lips. “Maybe.”

Xirath’s gaze darkens, unreadable. “Good.”

My pulse kicks against my ribs, but I lift the sword again.

“Again,” I say, voice steady.

His smirk is a quiet, dangerous thing.

This time, he does not hold back.

17

XIRATH

The stench of blood thickens the training grounds, iron and sweat mixing in the humid night. Torches burn high on the stone pillars that surround the pit, their golden light flickering against the gathered warriors. The crowd hums with quiet anticipation, naga watching from the raised platforms, their scaled tails coiled in observation.

Their curiosity is warranted.

A human fights tonight. They challenge her hours ago, saying she has no right to be stand by my side. That I’m going weaker because I’m protecting a human.

My human.

Seren stands in the center of the pit, breath steady, muscles taut beneath her skin. Her grip on the sword remains firm, the bruises from yesterday’s training still dark along her forearms. She is small among us, fragile in comparison.

Yet she does not look fragile now.

The naga standing across from her looms tall, muscle and scale, his tail coiling against the dirt like a whip ready to strike. Orith is not the strongest warrior in my ranks, but he is lethal, his strikes precise, his speed unmatched by most.

He bares his fangs at her. “I expected you to run.”

Seren lifts her blade, rolling her shoulders like she is shaking off his words. “I expected you to be taller.”

The gathered warriors hiss with amusement. Orith snarls.

Good. Let him be angry. Let him underestimate her.

The fight begins with a blur of movement.

Orith strikes first, tail whipping forward, meant to take her legs out from beneath her. She moves before impact, sidestepping with sharp agility, blade already arcing toward his ribs.

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