Page 10 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)
Priscilla
The Xirath ship descended from Nirum’s amber sky, its silver hull catching the light of both suns. Priscilla’s stomach knotted as she watched it land. Her steps faltered slightly on the path to the palace. The vessel’s sleek design spoke of wealth and power, but something about it made her skin crawl.
“Move aside, human.” A Niri guard brushed past her, heading toward the landing pad where the Xirath delegation emerged.
The aliens moved with military precision, their scaled armor gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Though similar in height to the Niri, their builds were leaner, more serpentine. Their eyes seemed to track everything with cold calculation.
“This way.” Another guard gestured to Priscilla. “The council awaits.”
She clenched her jaw, squaring her shoulders. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting for their human show-and-tell.”
The guard’s expression darkened. “Watch your tongue.”
A familiar presence materialized beside her—Andear. His massive frame blocked out the suns, casting her in shadow.
“I’ll escort her,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
The guard retreated immediately.
“I don’t need an escort,” Priscilla muttered, though her pulse quickened at his proximity.
“The Xirath are not to be trusted.” His voice dropped lower. “Keep your distance from them.”
“Why? Afraid they’ll damage your perfect example of human integration?”
Andear’s hand shot out, gripping her arm. The touch sent electricity through her body. “This is not about politics. They are predators.”
“I know predators when I see them.” Priscilla yanked her arm free, memories of her enslaved past flashing through her mind. “I’ve spent my life being used by the likes of their kind.”
“Then why are you here?”
The question hit too close to home. She was here because she’d been summoned because some part of her still responded to orders like a trained pet. The realization made her sick.
“Because I’m expected to be,” she admitted, hating the truth of it.
Something flickered in Andear’s golden eyes—understanding, perhaps. Or pity. She couldn’t tell which would be worse.
The Xirath delegation approached the palace steps, their boots clicking in perfect synchronization. Priscilla’s chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to run.
Priscilla’s footsteps echoed through the marble corridors as Andear guided her toward the council’s chamber. His large form blocked her peripheral vision, creating a living wall between her and the curious onlookers. The warmth radiating from him helped steady her racing pulse, though she kept her expression neutral.
“Head high,” Andear murmured, his voice so low only she could hear it. “You’re not their prize to display.”
The council’s chamber opened before them, a vast circular room with towering columns reaching toward a domed ceiling. Andear’s hand brushed her lower back as he directed her to a position near the center, staying close enough that his presence remained a tangible shield. She was grateful for him at this moment, though she’d never admit it out loud.
Zarlok approached with calculated grace, his silver-scaled armor catching the light filtering through the high windows. His eyes reminded her of polished obsidian—dark and lifeless.
“Ah, the human specimen.” Zarlok’s forked tongue flicked out between words. “I’ve heard fascinating things about your... integration into Niri society.”
Priscilla’s skin crawled at his use of “specimen.” She felt Andear tense beside her.
“I prefer Priscilla,” she said, keeping her voice calm despite the way her heart hammered. “And I’m not a specimen.”
Zarlok’s lips curved into what might have been meant as a smile but looked more like a predator baring its teeth. “Of course. My apologies.” He circled her slowly, and Priscilla fought the urge to step closer to Andear. “You seem... different from the humans in our territories. More... spirited.”
“The humans in your territories are slaves,” Andear cut in, his voice carrying the edge of a blade. “Priscilla is a free citizen of Nirum.”
“Yes, yes.” Zarlok waved a dismissive hand. “Your people’s peculiar stance on human rights. Though I must admit…” His gaze raked over Priscilla again. “I see the appeal of keeping certain specimens... close.”
Andear’s growl vibrated through the air between them. Priscilla placed a subtle hand on his arm, surprised by her own instinct to calm him. His muscles were coiled tightly beneath her touch, ready to strike.
“I’m not kept,” Priscilla said, meeting Zarlok’s cold stare. “I choose to be here.”
The Xirath leader’s expression shifted, something calculating replacing his false politeness. “How fascinating. We shall have much to discuss during these negotiations.”
Priscilla studied the Xirath delegation from her position near the council table, her fingers twisting in the folds of her dress. Zarlok gestured with fluid grace as he spoke of advanced weaponry and trade routes. But his movements reminded her too much of her former master, Kurg—the same calculated precision, the same hidden agenda behind pretty words.
“Our medical facilities could benefit your population greatly,” Zarlok said, his obsidian eyes sweeping the room. “Particularly in terms of fertility treatments.”
Several council members leaned forward with interest, but Priscilla noticed how Andear’s massive frame tensed, his hands gripping the edge of the table. The wood creaked under his strength.
“And of course,” Zarlok continued, “our agricultural technology would triple your crop yields within the first season.”
Priscilla recognized the tactic—start with the benefits and then hook them with promises of prosperity. Kurg had done the same thing, offering protection to desperate families before enslaving them. She watched the council members nodding along, already imagining the possibilities.
But Andear’s reaction caught her attention. His golden eyes tracked every Xirath movement like a predator assessing threats. His jaw clenched when they mentioned military “cooperation,” and his nostrils flared at their casual mentions of human territories.
The head councilor raised his hand. “These are impressive offerings. What would you require in return?”
“Merely an alliance,” Zarlok’s tongue flicked out between words. “A mutually beneficial arrangement between our people.”
Priscilla’s stomach churned. She’d heard those exact words before, from the mouth of a man who’d kept her in chains. Her gaze met Andear’s, and something passed between them—a shared understanding of the danger lurking beneath the surface.
The Xirath’s promises continued to flow like honey, sweet and sticky and impossible to escape once caught. But Priscilla saw through it, just as she felt Andear’s growing rage radiating next to her. The way his muscles coiled beneath his scales, the dangerous glint in his eyes—he was a warrior sensing an approaching battle.
When Zarlok mentioned “cultural exchange programs,” Priscilla noticed how his gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long. Beside her, Andear’s low growl vibrated through the air, too quiet for others to hear but clear enough to make her pulse quicken.
Her skin prickled as Zarlok’s obsidian eyes dissected her like she was a specimen under glass. The familiar sensation of being evaluated, appraised, made her throat tighten. She unconsciously shifted closer to Andear, drawn to his radiating heat and solid presence.
The movement wasn’t lost on anyone. Zarlok’s thin lips curved into a knowing smile while Andear’s massive frame seemed to expand, his scales darkening to deep crimson. The protective energy rolling off him was almost tangible.
“Esteemed council…” Zarlok’s voice cut through the chamber’s tension. “Perhaps we can reach an arrangement that benefits all parties.” He gestured expansively with one scaled hand. “In exchange for allowing us to establish our base on your outer moon, the Xirath Dominion will provide Nirum with unrestricted access to our quantum drive technology, military resources, and medical facilities.”
The council members exchanged interested glances. One of them leaned forward. “And trade routes?”
“Full access,” Zarlok purred. “Your merchants would have protected passage through all Xirath-controlled territories.”
Priscilla’s stomach clenched. She knew that tone. Reasonable. Accommodating. Deadly.
Beside her, Andear’s tail lashed once, the only outward sign of his rage. His massive hand gripped the ceremonial blade at his hip, his knuckles white with restraint.
Zarlok’s gaze slid back to Priscilla, calculating. “We would also be willing to share our expertise in... human relations. After all, we have extensive experience managing their unique needs.”
The words hung in the air like poison. Priscilla felt the phantom weight of chains around her wrists, remembering all too well what “management” meant. She forced herself to breathe steadily, though her heart hammered.
A deep rumble vibrated through Andear’s chest and Priscilla felt it in her bones. His presence at her side was both comfort and fortress, though she hadn’t asked for either.
Priscilla watched the council members lean forward eagerly in their seats, their eyes gleaming with interest at Zarlok’s promises. Her stomach twisted. The marble floor beneath her feet felt cold, even through her shoes, reminding her of concrete cells and iron bars.
Next to her, Andear radiated fury. His scales had darkened to obsidian, a sure sign of his rage. His tail lashed once, twice, the movement barely controlled.
“This is an invasion disguised as diplomacy,” he muttered, his voice barely detectable.
Priscilla’s nails bit into her palms as she clenched her fists. The Xirath’s words about “managing human needs” echoed in her mind, bringing back memories of her slavery. Of being “managed” until her spirit nearly broke. Her throat closed up at the thought of other humans suffering the same fate.
One of the council members—an older Niri with faded green scales—nodded eagerly at Zarlok’s mention of fertility treatments. “Our population has struggled with conception rates. Your medical expertise would be invaluable.”
Priscilla felt bile rise in her throat. She knew exactly what kind of “medical expertise” the Xirath offered. Images of human women being used as brood mares flashed through her mind. She wouldn’t let it happen here.
Andear shifted slightly, his body blocking more of her from Zarlok’s view. The protective gesture made her heart skip, even as her mind raced through possibilities. There had to be a way to make the council see the truth behind these honeyed promises.
Zarlok’s forked tongue flicked out as he smiled, his obsidian eyes falling on Priscilla again. He leered at her like a wolf sizing up his next meal.