Page 46 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

Pacing along the stone floor, my fingers play over the smooth silver band circling my finger, twisting it absentmindedly, pressing the cool metal into my skin. The ring had been my salvation, my shield, my only protection against Jalith’s magic.

But it is also a tether.

The moment Xirath left, the silence became unbearable. Every muscle in my body screams for movement. Pacing isn’t enough, but staying still is worse.

The ring catches the flickering firelight, glinting ominously, its presence both a comfort and a curse. Had this been the reason Jalith found me so quickly? Had it left a trail, a mark of ancient magic that allowed him to track me across lands I thought I’d escaped?

Removing it should be the obvious solution.

But I can’t.

If it slips from my hand, his magic will latch onto me in an instant. The ring is the only thing keeping me free.

A low, distant tremor shudders through the ground.

I freeze, fingers tightening around the band.

Distant sounds seep through the thick walls of the stronghold, clashing metal, the dull roar of fire, the unmistakable echo of something breaking.

Another explosion shakes the chamber. Dust sifts from the ceiling, drifting in pale, eerie wisps.

The stronghold is under siege.

I should have left with Xirath.

A rapid knock raps against the heavy doors. My body tenses as I reach for the dagger strapped to my thigh.

“Lady Seren.” The voice is sharp, urgent. “Lord Xirath has ordered your evacuation. You must follow me, quickly.”

My breath catches, uncertainty clawing against instinct.

Xirath would not order me to flee.

But the stone beneath me trembles again, and I have no time to question it.

The door creaks open. A naga soldier stands before me, his scales a deep onyx, his slitted golden eyes burning in the dim torchlight. “We must go. The stronghold is compromised.”

Smoke curls into the hallway behind him, creeping in thick ribbons, carrying with it the stench of battle.

His expression remains impassive, but his tail flicks sharply against the ground. “Move, human.”

I do.

The stronghold is a maze of stone corridors, but the naga leads me through without hesitation, weaving through darkened paths away from the sounds of battle. The deeper we go, the thicker the heat grows, the walls vibrating with the distant echoes of war.

Ahead, an iron grate looms at the end of a narrow passage.

The soldier pulls it open, revealing a hidden tunnel carved into the rock. Faint torchlight glows along the curved ceiling, the aroma of damp earth curling through the tight space.

“Hurry.” His voice is clipped, too firm.

My pulse stutters.

Xirath had not mentioned an escape route. Why wouldn’t he have told me about this?

A sharp crack booms through the stronghold. Stone splinters behind us.

The soldier grips my wrist, yanking me forward. “No time. Move.”

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