Page 10

He gives me a sideways glance, one brow arched in mocking surprise. “Why not? She’s your property, is she not?”

I meet his stare without blinking, heat simmering in my chest. “I don’t share my property.”

His lips twist into a sneer. “Ah, so you do keep her for yourself. You should have said so. Or are you just squeamish about letting others handle your scraps?”

Mira’s hand clenches around the edge of her apron, and a torrent of fury surges through my veins. Before I can temper it, I feel my venom glands pulse beneath my fangs, a bitter tang flooding my mouth. Rahlazen, smug in his presumed safety, tilts his head as though daring me to act.

Then it happens. He dares to lift his hand again, reaching toward Mira’s sleeve as if to drag her closer.

I flash forward, crossing the space in an instant.

My tail lashes, and my clawed fingers grip his wrist before he can touch her.

The candlelight flares off my scales as I bare my fangs, venom shining on their tips.

Rahlazen lets out a startled yelp. “Vahziryn?—”

Whatever he intends to say dies in his throat.

The next moment, I strike. My fangs sink into the side of his neck, a lightning-quick move that unleashes a dose of venom.

It isn’t enough to kill instantly—my control is too precise for that—but it’s more than enough to send him reeling in pain.

He staggers back, choking on a cry. My tail coils around him, preventing his escape as I glare into his widened eyes.

“You dare lay a hand on what is mine?” My voice shakes with a fury I haven’t felt in years. “Insult me if you wish, but do not touch her.”

He writhes, face going pale. The wound on his neck burns an angry purplish-red, and the stench of raw fear pervades the air. “You...you’d kill me over a worthless?—”

“Silence,” I snarl. My coils tighten just enough to keep him pinned without crushing. The entire hall has gone deathly quiet. I sense the shocked gazes of the staff, the hush that wraps around Mira as she stands behind me. No one dares move.

Rahlazen’s breathing turns ragged. The venom is taking hold, numbing his limbs, though it won’t slay him outright. He chokes out a rasp. “You realize this is an offense punishable by the council?—”

I flash my fangs again. “Threaten me with them all you wish, but know this: if you ever speak of her that way again, I will not stop at a mild dose.”

His eyes roll, and I release him with a sharp shove, letting him collapse to the floor.

He gasps and clutches at his neck, face twisted in agony.

Venom sweat beads on his temples. My tail lashes once more, filled with lingering rage, then retracts around me.

A chill seeps through my blood as I realize the weight of what I’ve done.

To strike a noble is not uncommon in the savage politics of naga society, but to do so over a mere human. ..that is an entirely different matter.

The staff stands frozen at the edges of the hall. No one utters a sound. Finally, I snap, “Lock down the manor. No one leaves without my permission.”

They spring into motion, scurrying to bar the doors and close the windows. Two guards rush to Rahlazen’s side, glancing at me for direction. I jerk my chin. “Take him to the guest chambers. Keep him alive, but do not let him wander. I’ll decide his fate when I choose.”

They nod, hauling him up and dragging him out of the hall.

His moans echo off the walls, then fade.

The hush that lingers is thick enough to taste.

My gaze sweeps the room, landing on Mira.

She stares at me with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Something in her expression twists my insides.

Shock, fear, confusion...and maybe a hint of something else I can’t name.

Fury still pumps through my veins, though it has shifted into a wild realization of the risk I’ve taken. I just assaulted a noble visitor in my own domain, all because he insulted a servant. A human. The very notion stuns me. I clench my fists, trying to regain composure.

“Everyone out,” I say in a low tone. “Now.”

The staff scrambles, obeying my command without question.

Mira hovers for a moment, seemingly unsure if she should join them.

Our eyes lock once more, tension crackling in the space between us.

Even from several paces away, I sense her trembling.

The candlelight catches the subtle highlights of her hair, the soft slope of her cheek, the parted lips that reveal shallow breathing.

I tear my gaze away, forcing my attention to the nearest guard. “Crick,” I call out. The half-blood guard steps forward, eyes darting between me and Mira. “Ensure the gates are sealed. No messenger crows leave tonight. Understood?”

He nods sharply, then glances at Mira before darting after the others. She remains still for another heartbeat, confusion clouding her features. Finally, she sets the tray she’s holding on the table—hands shaking—and hurries after the rest.

In the sudden quiet, I press my palm against the table’s edge, tail twitching with agitation.

My thoughts swirl: I’ve practically declared open hostility toward the council by striking a noble who outranks me in political circles.

They will interpret my actions as an affront to naga authority.

My entire estate stands at risk. Yet a part of me—some primal, possessive part—rejoices in the memory of Rahlazen’s fear.

He deserved every moment of pain for the way he spoke to Mira.

I banish that unsteady thrill from my mind and sweep out of the dining hall.

The corridors feel colder than usual, the lamps casting elongated shadows on the stone walls.

My footsteps echo, and I sense the staff scurrying away from my presence.

This is the consequence of showing anger publicly: the hush that pervaded my domain becomes something more like dread.

Eventually, I reach my private chambers near the eastern wing.

The door closes behind me with a dull thud.

The room is lit only by a single oil lamp perched on a side table.

Coiled serpent designs swirl across the walls, their carved forms flickering in the lamplight.

I pace, tail lashing with each step, mind churning over the fallout to come.

A memory flashes: Mira’s face when Rahlazen tried to touch her.

She looked trapped between terror and indignation.

The faint trembling in her fingers when she set down that tray lingers in my thoughts.

I could not stand the sight of him taunting her, that vile look in his eyes.

My body acted before I could think, venom surging out to silence him.

A scowl forms. My father once told me that discipline separates a warlord from a mere soldier.

Yet in that moment, I lost all control. The feeling echoes inside me—a roaring awareness that she has become something I cannot ignore.

And that is precisely what terrifies me.

I do not want to bond or care for any human, but the truth is I’ve made a spectacle of my protectiveness tonight.

Abruptly, I spin around to find Sahrine standing there. Her presence is so quiet I sometimes forget to track her. She doesn’t speak until I meet her unseeing gaze. “You must see what this implies,” she says calmly. “Defending a human so openly will not go unnoticed. The council will hear of it.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m well aware. Let them hear. Rahlazen won’t soon forget the sting of my venom.”

She inclines her head, robe shifting against the floor. “He might try to bargain for his life or threaten you with repercussions.”

I exhale. “Yes. And I will handle that.”

Sahrine listens, perhaps sensing the rippling tension in my posture. Then she quietly nods. “Very well, my lord. I will keep the staff in line. What of the girl?”

The question squeezes my chest. “Mira,” I reply, her name tasting unfamiliar in my mouth, “she did nothing wrong. She will remain unharmed.”

Sahrine’s expression doesn’t shift, but I sense a subtle flicker of interest. “And the man you struck? Will you kill him?”

My tail curls at her bluntness. “Not yet. Let him suffer the effects of venom for a while. Perhaps I’ll release him once he swears to keep silent. Or perhaps I’ll feed him to the council if they come calling.”

She tilts her head in agreement, though I doubt she fully approves. “As you say, my lord.” Then she slips from the room, leaving me alone with the weight of my anger.

I collapse onto a low seat carved from dark wood, the surface chilled by the night air.

My mind replays the dinner scene, focusing on the instant I sank my fangs into Rahlazen’s neck.

That rush of satisfaction unsettles me now.

I can’t afford to let rage dictate my actions.

Not after everything that drove me from the High Nest in the first place.

Yet an insidious warmth flickers in my chest when I think of Mira.

The memory of her face, her tension, the subtle relief in her posture when I intervened—it gnaws at me, demanding attention.

I picture her deep-brown eyes, the shape of her mouth, the delicacy of her hands, and I find myself longing to reassure her that she is safe here, if only from petty tyrants like Rahlazen.

My claws tighten against the chair’s arm.

I vow to maintain distance. She is a servant, and my life is complicated enough without entangling deeper.

But the lines of boundary blur when I recall how I threatened death to any who might mistreat her.

The entire estate has witnessed my reaction.

They know she is not just another human.

Even if I refuse to admit it, I’ve made her special by my own actions.

A faint knock disrupts my brooding. “Enter,” I say, mustering calm.