Page 47 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

“You always were good at taking things that weren’t offered,” she whispers.

I lean down, voice scraping like gravel. “You always offered.”

Her eyes flash wide — pain and fury and something hotter flickering underneath. I pull back before I do something we’ll both regret.

“Fine,” I say, tone hard again. “Stay here. You’re under guard. You try to run, I’ll bring you back myself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters.

I ignore the sting, turn on my heel, and stalk out before I lose what little control I’ve got left.

Night falls fast on Jurtik. Always does. I don’t sleep.

I sit by the fire in my quarters, the flames painting shadows across the steel walls. I can hear her through the thin partition— pacing, muttering, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When I finally go to check, she’s asleep.

She didn’t even make it to the bed. Curled up in my armor chair, still in her torn clothes, one hand tucked under her cheek. There’s grease on her face, a split in her lip, and a tiny scar under her chin that wasn’t there before.

Something tightens in my chest. I reach out — stop myself halfway. My fingers hover an inch from her hair. I shouldn’t. Ican’t.

Then she murmurs something in her sleep.

One word.

Soft. Fragile.

“Kel…”

My hand freezes.

Kel?

Who the hell is Kel?

I pull back, slower this time, my mind turning over like a faulty engine.

The Alliance. A mission. Secrets. A name I don’t recognize.

I step outside before I break something.

The night air bites at my skin. The stars above are the same as the ones I used to stare at when I thought I’d never see her again. They look different now — colder, sharper.

I breathe her name once, quiet enough that no one hears.

“Jaela…”

Then I make a promise to the dark.

“I’ll find out what you’re hiding.”

By sunrise, I’ve got blood on my boots and murder in my veins.

The camp’s on edge. Word spreads fast around here—Jaela, the Earthborn ghost, is real and walking, and the Slag Rider chief’s head still hangs from my gate like a damn wind chime.

That should be enough to quiet the dogs.

It ain’t.