Page 25

MIRA

I stand outside Remanos’s receiving chamber, heart pounding at the knowledge that Vaelen waits just beyond these doors.

Light streams in through a high, arched window, illuminating the corridor’s mosaic floor in shifting patterns.

My palms feel clammy despite the relative coolness of the estate.

We’ve requested this audience, hoping the ledger we recovered from the warehouse—and the other partial evidence we’ve gathered—will shake Vaelen into backing down.

But I know better than to expect an easy confession.

Remanos appears at my side. His expression is grim, yet resolute.

The subtle tension in his jaw speaks of how close we both are to simply bursting in there and accusing Vaelen of treason on the spot.

But we need caution. One misstep and Vaelen might claim we forged the ledger or brand us traitors ourselves.

“You’re certain you want to do this?” he murmurs, voice pitched so only I can hear.

I nod, clenching the folded parchment in my hand—tangible proof of arms deals with orcs and the forging of Remanos’s crest on illicit shipments.

“Yes. We can’t let him control the narrative any longer.

At least if we confront him first, we’ll see how he reacts. Maybe it’ll rattle him enough to slip.”

His tail gives a single, taut flick. “If he threatens you, I’ll handle it.”

I exhale. “I can handle myself. But… thank you.”

Our eyes meet for a moment, a flicker of that quiet synergy sparking.

Neither of us mentions what nearly happened last night after the ambush.

I can still feel the ghost of his breath against my cheek, the heat in his gaze.

My thoughts keep drifting back to that moment, equal parts longing and confusion twisting in my gut.

He inclines his head, then pushes open the double doors.

Inside, Vaelen stands by a carved marble table, flanked by two lesser senators.

He greets us with a smile that never reaches his cold eyes.

The table is set with a small pitcher of spiced wine and three cups—far too courteous an arrangement for a meeting we all know is laced with hostility.

I keep my hood lowered, though not enough to hide my face.

He wants a show of docility, but I’m not giving it.

“Champion,” Vaelen says, voice silken. His gaze flicks to me, then back to Remanos. “I received your summons. Something about irregularities in the city’s shipments, was it? I’m ever so curious to hear your theories.”

Remanos crosses the threshold, shoulders squared. “We appreciate your time.” He shoots me a quick glance before continuing. “We’ve discovered evidence that orc mercenaries have been colluding with certain individuals, funneling contraband shipments disguised with my crest.”

Vaelen’s thin smile grows sharper. “That’s quite an accusation.”

I step forward, heart thumping. “We found a ledger. It lists arms deals, weapon inventories, and bribes paid to orc clans. Many documents carry a distinctive mark—your personal seal. We want an explanation.”

Vaelen’s expression doesn’t flicker. He gestures at the two lesser senators, who remain silent but watchful. “My personal seal, you say? It’s a common enough design. Are you certain it’s not a forgery to implicate me?”

A tremor of anger winds through me. I hold up the parchment, revealing the wax seal that’s half-cracked but still displaying Vaelen’s stylized horns. “You tell us. Why would orcs and their minotaur collaborators sign your name to trade in stolen steel?”

His eyes linger on the parchment, but his composure remains maddeningly intact.

“Interesting. If I recall, you’re the one who’s been paraded as a war spoil.

Perhaps you’re rummaging for leverage to free yourself—fabricating documents to tarnish my reputation.

” He glances at Remanos. “Have you considered she might be manipulating you, champion?”

My jaw tightens. “I’m not forging anything.”

Remanos’s voice drops to a dangerous pitch. “Watch your words, senator. Mira has more integrity than you give her credit for.”

Vaelen chuckles, though there’s no humor in it. “Oh, I’ve no doubt she’s cunning. She was an orc captive, after all. Perhaps she learned some dark secrets in their camps. What better way to sow discord than target me?”

I clench the parchment, knuckles whitening. “You’re deflecting.”

His eyes gleam. “Or you’re scheming.” Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he addresses Remanos.

“Champion, can you truly trust her? She hates Milthar’s traditions, hates that she’s your spoil—by orcish custom, of course.

Perhaps she’s decided to burn everything down, including your champion’s reputation, and pin it on me. ”

The casual cruelty of his words ignites my fury. I open my mouth to retort, but Remanos steps forward, horns angled in a quiet threat. “Don’t use her as a smokescreen, Vaelen. We have no reason to fabricate claims. We have every reason to stop the orcs’ infiltration—unless you’re part of it.”

Vaelen’s lips curl. “The orcs are a menace. I’d never ally with them.

If documents bearing my seal exist, they’re forgeries.

I can only conclude you two are desperate—especially you, Mira.

” He drags his gaze over me, an unsettling mix of scorn and twisted fascination.

“Is this your attempt to avoid the fate of a captured trophy? Are you so intent on undermining the Senate that you’d frame me for treason? ”

My pulse thrums in my ears. “You’re the one forging Remanos’s crest, dealing with orcs behind the city’s back.”

He snorts. “What a bold accusation from a ‘disruptive influence.’ Maybe it’s time the Senate revisits your status. You’re not exactly a citizen. If you persist in these slanders, we might deem you an enemy of Milthar. The orcs might reclaim you.”

A surge of cold terror meets blazing rage in my chest. The idea that they could deliver me back to orc captivity is a nightmare I can’t endure. Remanos’s tail lashes, and I sense the tension in every muscle of his broad frame.

“You’d threaten to return her to orcs just to hide your wrongdoing?” Remanos demands, voice trembling with suppressed anger.

Vaelen shrugs. “If she insists on undermining the city. We must protect ourselves from foreign agitators.”

One of the lesser senators stirs, uneasy, but remains silent.

I suspect they’ve heard rumors of Vaelen’s conspiracies but fear his power more than they believe in justice.

My breath comes faster, chest tight. We have partial evidence, but Vaelen’s brazen enough to deny everything and twist the Senate’s laws to silence me.

Remanos lifts his chin. “This is your final chance to come clean.”

Vaelen’s laughter is mirthless. “You come empty-handed, with scraps that could be forged, and you expect me to cower? Let me give you a final warning, champion. Keep your pet under control. If she disrupts the Senate further, we will brand her a threat. And you, champion, might lose what protection your title affords.”

Remanos’s fists clench. I fear he’ll snap.

But something in his posture signals retreat.

He’s no fool—we don’t have a smoking gun in the ledger alone.

Presenting it to Vaelen, rather than a neutral senator, was a risk.

Vaelen’s too cunning to quake in his boots.

A heavy dread settles over me as Remanos bows slightly, acknowledging Vaelen’s position despite the tension.

“We won’t waste more time here,” he grinds out, voice cold. “But we’re not done.”

Vaelen’s smile is razor-sharp. “I look forward to your next spectacle.”

I glare at him, fury simmering like acid in my veins, yet powerless to strike. At a subtle gesture from Remanos, I follow him out. As soon as the chamber doors slam behind us, my chest constricts in a wave of pent-up frustration.

“That vile—” I begin, but words fail me. I want to scream, cry, and punch a wall all at once. The corridor feels stifling.

Remanos’s expression is bleak. “He has the Senate’s ear. We can’t just present the ledger without more backing. He’ll spin it as forgery.”

I exhale shakily. “And he threatened to ship me back to the orcs. I… can’t go through that again.”

A fierce protectiveness flares in his eyes. “I won’t allow it.” His voice resonates with quiet promise.

We walk in tense silence through the estate’s corridors, leaving behind Vaelen’s domain. Our attempt to pin him down failed spectacularly. I sense Remanos’s guilt thickening the air. He tried to shield me, but we’re up against a cunning politician with the power to brand me a menace.

“Back to your estate?” I manage, voice thin. “We need a new plan.”

He nods, eyes stormy. “Yes. It’s safer if you stay close.”

I bristle, but I understand. Right now, if Vaelen tries to arrest or discredit me, the only place I won’t be seized on sight is Remanos’s estate.

We depart into the bustling streets. A swirl of midday commerce surrounds us—minotaurs pushing carts, hawking produce, forging metals in open-front workshops.

The crowd parts for the champion, though many cast curious looks at me.

I keep my hood partially up. My anger roils, leaving me on edge.

By the time we reach the estate gates, my thoughts are a knotted mess. The Senate’s laws are a double-edged blade: supposed to protect the city, but easily bent by Vaelen’s clout. The second we enter the courtyard, I let out a long breath, though it does little to ease the weight in my chest.

Remanos dismisses the guard who rushes forward to greet us, muttering that he needs privacy.

We trek through the estate halls until we find a small antechamber near the training yard, one we rarely use.

The shutters are drawn, letting in only a soft haze of sunlight.

The quiet is thick enough to stifle a scream.