Page 49 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

Veynar’s breath is sharp, measured. “This is reckless.”

“So was taking her,” I snap.

His tail lashes once, a flicker of irritation before his voice evens out. “If you abandon the field for a human?—”

“Don’t speak to me of politics.”

Veynar’s hands clench at his sides.

“The other Lords will see this as weakness,” he presses, gaze dark. “Leaving now?—”

“My orders stand.” The words slice through the space between us, sharp as any blade. “Restore order, hunt any minotaur still within our borders. Hold the stronghold.”

Veynar does not lower his head in submission immediately.

The silence between us stretches.

He exhales. “You are breaking every expectation placed upon you.”

A cold, sharp smile curves my lips. “Good.”

His jaw tightens, but he does not argue.

A flick of my reins sends the steed forward, hooves kicking up mud as I launch into the night.

Smoke clogsthe tunnels leading to the chamber. The once-orderly corridors now resemble a battlefield, splintered stone and shattered doors strewn across the floors. Guards lie motionless, their bodies slumped against the walls, throats gaping, eyes unseeing.

Heat pulses through my veins, burning hot and unrelenting.

Seren.

She should be here.

She should be pacing the chamber, biting off sharp words, rolling her shoulders like a caged beast ready to strike.

But the space is empty.

The realization slams into like a blade to the ribs.

She is gone.

Something feral uncoils inside my chest, a monstrous, seething thing that I do not care to name.

The remnants of her presence linger, a tipped-over chair, a dagger missing from the weapons rack.

She fought.

She fought and lost.

A strangled growl rips from my throat.

A figure steps into the ruined chamber.

One of my lower officers, chest heaving with exertion. “My lord?—”

I do not wait.

Claws sink into his armor as I yank him forward. “Where is she?”

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