Page 6

6

NARANUS

T he flames flicker low, casting jagged shadows against the carved walls of the war chamber. The embers shift, glowing deep within the stone brazier, but the fire’s warmth does nothing to quell the cold knot coiled inside me.

She tried to kill me. And she hesitated.

I press my palm against the long fissure carved into my chest, tracing the place where my body fought to break apart only hours ago. The fractures are still raw, the glow of molten stone fading beneath my skin, but it is not the pain that lingers, it’s the moment just before I woke.

The hesitation in her grip. The way her breath stilled, her dagger poised, yet unmoving.

She should have taken the opportunity.

I should have crushed her throat the second she was within reach.

Instead, I let her go.

I exhale sharply and turn away from the fire, letting my wings settle against my back. The war chamber is empty aside from me, the walls carved with the sigils of a kingdom that once stood unchallenged. Now, the gargoyles whisper in my halls, doubting the strength of their warlord. The dark elves grin behind their masks, waiting for my ruin.

The purna, their bride still breathes.

The door groans as it swings open behind me. Heavy footsteps. A shift of movement, controlled but deliberate.

I don’t turn.

"That was a bold attempt," I murmur, running a clawed hand along the curved edge of the obsidian table. "Though you should have been smarter about it. My guards are not so easy to slip past."

Silence.

Then, the measured click of boots across the stone. "Your guards were distracted," she says smoothly. "You should be concerned."

A slow, wicked smirk graces his lips. "Perhaps I should be impressed instead."

I face her, letting the shadows of the brazier frame her in flickering gold.

Eryss stands tall, unbowed, her hands bound in front of her with iron manacles. The guards did not harm her, though I have no doubt they wanted to. Her tunic is still intact, her leather-clad legs braced firmly apart, her chin lifted with that same quiet defiance.

A lesser creature would cower.

She only looks at me.

"Why did you hesitate?" I ask.

Her gaze sharpens. "Hesitate?"

I step forward, slow, deliberate, watching the way her shoulders remain rigid, her breathing measured.

"With the blade," I continue. "I felt your presence before I opened my eyes. You were close. Close enough to press the dagger to my throat, and yet you didn’t."

I stop mere inches from her, the heat of my body coiling between us, the smell of steel and damp stone clinging to her skin.

Eryss lifts her chin. "Would you rather I had?"

The pulse in my neck beats heavier. The gall of her. The audacity.

"I’d rather not be woken from my sleep by an incompetent assassin," I murmur, letting my voice dip lower, rasping against the space between us. "If you’re going to try and kill me, little bride, do it properly."

Her lips part, her hands twitch against the iron chains, but she doesn’t lower her gaze. "Maybe I will."

I chuckle, dark and slow. "You missed your chance."

She doesn’t flinch. "Then I’ll make another."

The sheer boldness of it is almost amusing. Almost.

I reach for her, wrapping my fingers around the manacles, dragging her wrists up between us. The iron is cold, heavier than it needs to be, and yet she doesn’t pull back.

"If you had magic," I muse, running my thumb along the delicate ridges of the chains, "you would have melted through these bindings already."

Her throat moves as she swallows. "Is that why you haven’t killed me?"

I don’t answer immediately. I let the question settle, let it burn into the silence between us.

I hold the manacles tightly and yank her forward. She stumbles into me, the full length of her body pressing against mine, the soft inhale that escapes her barely audible over the crackling embers.

Her pulse thrums against my chest.

I lower my mouth to her ear, letting my breath skate across her jaw. "No, little bride. I haven’t killed you because I enjoy watching you fight."

She exhales sharply, but she doesn’t shove me away.

Instead, her fingers tighten against the chains, her body rigid against my hold.

"You're playing a dangerous game, warlord," she murmurs, her voice steady despite the sharp edge of tension strung between us.

My claws flex against the iron. "And you're foolish enough to play it with me."

Another silence.

Then, she leans up, just slightly, just enough that the movement feels like a challenge.

"I was taught you were nothing more than a beast," she says. "A mindless monster cursed by my kind, doomed to die by my hand."

I release her wrists, stepping back just enough to look down at her fully. "And yet?"

She studies me, gaze tracing the fractures still healing along my arms, the lines of my jaw, the molten glow that still flickers beneath my skin.

"And yet, you're still here."

The words linger, softer than I expect, laced with something sharp.

I turn away before I let them sink deeper.

She will fight me. She will try again.

But she will not break. I find it more to my taste.