Page 41 of Savage Crown

41

RYLAN

T he room is too quiet.

A silence that clings to the skin, thick as poison.

Nhilian sits at the head of the table, fingers lazily tapping against the stem of his goblet. The faintest hint of a smirk lingers on his lips, watching me like he’s already won.

And beside him sits Seraphina. My little thief.

Bruised. Bloodied. Chained.

She’s too pale, too still, but her eyes lock onto mine with a defiance that hasn’t dimmed.

That shouldn’t make my breath come sharper, my chest tighten.

But it does.

I should have gotten here sooner.

I should have burned this entire castle to the ground before they ever laid a hand on her.

Nhilian sighs, swirling the wine in his cup. "You have nothing to say, Rylan?"

I drag my gaze from Seraphina to him.

I know what he wants.

He wants me to react.

To snap.

To break.

He will not get that. Breaking change nothing.

Even if I’m dying inside because of my whole life has been a lie, I can’t give him the satisfaction of witnessing it.

Not yet.

Not until I carve the smirk from his lips.

Instead, I keep my voice quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.

"You’re stalling," I murmur.

A slow, pleased chuckle. "Am I?"

"You wouldn’t have sent your dogs after me if you didn’t already know how this ends."

I move closer, unhurried, watching him like he’s the insect beneath my boot.

His guards tense.

He lifts a hand, a lazy wave. "Stand down."

They obey.

Fools.

Nhilian gestures to the seat opposite him.

"Sit," he says smoothly.

I don’t move.

His smirk deepens. "Oh, come now. We’re both civilized men, are we not?"

I let my lips curl at the edges.

"You're confusing civilization with cowardice."

The amusement flickers in his eyes.

Good.

Let him play his games.

I can play them better.

I glance at Seraphina. The iron cuffs bite into her wrists, the chains secured to the chair.

A calculated move.

If he wanted her suffering, he would have had her beaten worse.

No.

He needs her alive.

He needs me to see her like this.

To make me weak.

He knows she’s the key.

I exhale slowly, shifting my weight. "You went through all this trouble for me. Let’s get to the point."

Nhilian takes a sip of his wine, savoring it. "Very well. I assume, by now, you've accepted the truth?"

I meet his gaze. "That you talk too much? Yes."

His laughter is sharp, grating.

"You’re amusing when you’re cornered, Rylan." He sets his cup down with a soft clink. "But that’s all this is—false bravado. You think you’re still in control, but I know better."

He leans forward, fingers interlacing. "You came here expecting a fight. But now you’re questioning everything, aren’t you? Your precious adoptive father, Marchellion… he wasn’t the hero you thought he was. He was a murderer."

I tilt my head slightly. "And?"

A flicker of something in Nhilian’s gaze. A pause.

Not the reaction he expected.

Good.

I step closer, until I’m nearly at the table.

"I’ve accepted the truth," I say. "That doesn’t mean I care."

Seraphina’s breath hitches—just slightly.

Nhilian’s smirk flickers.

I keep going.

"I always knew Marchellion was a bastard," I continue, voice calm, even. "He didn’t raise me out of kindness. He raised me out of necessity. And he died for it."

I smile. Mocking. Cruel.

"And now, so will you.”

The shift is instant.

Nhilian’s amusement turns razor-sharp.

But I see it.

The briefest moment of irritation.

He wanted me broken.

Instead, I am calculating his execution.

He exhales, shaking his head. "You disappoint me, Rylan. I expected more?—"

I flick my dagger from my coat so fast the guards barely react.

The blade sings through the air, embedding itself in the wood of the table, inches from his hand.

Nhilian doesn’t flinch.

But Seraphina does.

Not from the blade.

From the shift.

Now, this game is over.

I place my hands on the table, leaning forward, voice low.

"Here’s how this works, Nhilian."

I tip my head, watching the way his fingers twitch slightly.

"You will unchain her. You will let her walk to me. And if you don’t?—"

I drag my second dagger from my belt and place it beside the first.

"I will slit your throat, one inch at a time."

The room holds its breath.

Seraphina is very, very still.

I don’t look at her.

I can’t.

If I do, I might not be able to contain what I’m barely holding together.

Nhilian exhales, slow, measured.

In the cruelest, softest tone, he asks:

"And if she doesn’t want to leave?"

The world goes silent.

Seraphina’s gaze flickers to him.

Then to me.

A moment stretched too thin.

A test.

A game.

Nhilian studies me, waiting for the crack in my mask.

I let my lips curl.

I laugh.

Soft. Amused.

I know what he’s doing.

And I won’t let him win.

I push the dagger one inch deeper into the wood.

"She does."

Seraphina meets my eyes.

She says nothing.

Nhilian hums. "If you say so."

Then—he lifts a hand.

And in a single, casual flick of his fingers?—

The guards move.

I react before thought.

A dagger in each hand.

A snarl tearing from my throat.

I know what’s coming.

I always knew.

This was never a negotiation.

This was always a trap.