Page 7 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

She will learn that soon enough.

4

SEREN

Ihave walked through the halls of palaces built for monsters before. This one feels different.

Not because it is grand or dripping in wealth, it is not. Xirath’s estate is built of obsidian and quiet menace, its walls clean but unadorned, its architecture carved from the bones of the cliffs themselves. No paintings, no gilded ornaments. Nothing that doesn't serve a purpose.

A house that doesn't entertain.

A house that welcomes no one.

A house that waits.

I step deeper into the corridor, the silver chain still heavy on my wrists, its links glinting in the dim light filtering from the open ceiling above. No torches. No chandeliers. Just endless black stone and the stars leering through jagged gaps overhead. The naga don't obstruct their gods.

Xirath’s boots sound behind me, soft, deliberate. He moves like a shadow detached from its master, soundless when he chooses to be, but present enough that I can never forget he is there. Watching. Calculating.

The great predator and his little mouse.

If he calls me that again, I might put my fists through those slitted golden eyes.

"You walk like you own the place," he muses, his voice thick with quiet amusement.

I don't stop. "I walk like I am not afraid of it."

He hums. A low, curling sound that slithers up my spine, testing its strength.

"I wonder," he says after a moment, "do you lie as easily to yourself as you do to me?"

I clench my teeth and keep walking.

The halls widen, opening into what should be a receiving chamber, but there are no chairs, no grand table where guests might sit and sip wine. Instead, a single stone platform rises in the center, its surface worn smooth by time, not comfort. The markings carved into the walls are old, older than this house, perhaps older than the naga who built it. I cannot read the language, but I recognize power when I see it.

Everything here serves a function. Including me.

Xirath gestures toward the farthest archway. "Your chamber."

It is not a request.

But I don't move toward it. Not yet.

Instead, I face him fully, lifting my bound hands between us. "Remove them."

His gaze flickers to the chain, then back to me. "No."

I expect it. But my patience is threadbare. "Do you enjoy keeping your pets leashed, Lord Xirath?"

A muscle in his jaw tightens. He steps closer, his presence stretching like a storm gathering just beyond reach.

"You are not a pet," he says, voice like crushed velvet over steel.

"No?" I lift my chin. "Then what am I?"

He watches me in silence, and for a fraction of a second, I see something raw flicker across his face.

Then it is gone.

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