Page 22 of Warlord’s Plaything

22

XYRON

T he council chamber is suffocating.

Twelve men and women, all dressed in their finest deception, sit in a perfect half-circle, their black robes pooling over the polished obsidian floor.

The space is full of incense and unspoken threats.

I take my seat.

I don’t bow.

I don’t speak first.

Fuck, I don’t need to.

They called me here.

And I already know why.

"You are keeping them alive."

Kaelith speaks first. He doesn’t raise his voice.

He doesn’t need to.

His words sink into the room like poisoned knives.

I don’t react.

I don’t have to.

I just let the silence do the work for me.

Because silence is power.

And right now, I want them to feel it.

"The gladiators," Valis presses, tapping a gloved hand against the armrest. "The ones who led the rebellion. They should be dead."

"Yet they aren’t," Kaelith muses, tilting his head. "Curious, isn’t it?"

I smirk.

"I don’t recall needing permission to keep prisoners."

Kaelith smiles back.

It’s the kind of smile you give a man right before you slit his throat.

"You misunderstand, Xyron."

His voice is calm, sharp, fucking deadly.

"This is not a request. It’s a warning."

Valis leans forward, his eyes gleaming.

"Rebellion is a disease, warlord. One does not let it fester. One cuts it out at the root."

"You think I don’t know about it?"

"Then why are they still breathing?"

I glance around the room.

At the watching eyes, the careful tension.

They think they’re closing in on me.

That they can force my hand.

They forget. I do not bow. I do not break.

I fucking rule.

"I own their leader."

A ripple moves through the council.

Whispers. A flicker of uncertainty.

Kaelith watches me too carefully.

"You mean the human?" he asks, voice smooth.

"Not just any human."

I lean forward, let my voice drop lower.

"The one who almost took your House down with nothing but stolen steel and rage."

I let them remember.

How close she came.

How much damage she did.

How fucking dangerous she is.

And now?

She is mine.

Kaelith is the first to speak.

"And yet, you let her live."

I grin.

"She’s more useful breathing."

The chamber buzzes with quiet tension.

I can see the war in their eyes—half of them agree, half of them want my head for it.

They won’t move yet.

But this?

This was their first test.

And they’re watching.

Waiting for the first crack in my armor.

Kaelith smiles, his fingers drumming against the table.

"Very well."

I don’t trust his easy agreement.

I shouldn’t.

The game isn’t over.

It’s just fucking starting.

After that tense confrontation with the council, there’s this aching need driving me to see Hira.

I go to her like a moth craving the fire. Like how they fly to their deaths.

As I enter my private chambers, the torches flicker against the walls.

The scent of sweat, steel, and anger lingers in the air.

She’s waiting for me.

Standing in the center of my room, body tense, eyes burning.

She doesn’t even give me time to speak.

"Where are they?"

Her voice is low, sharp. A blade to my throat.

I don’t answer immediately.

I want to see her fight for it.

"Your people?" I muse, stepping closer. "You’ll have to be more specific."

Her hands clench into fists.

"Don’t play fucking games, Xyron."

"And if I enjoy them?"

Her breath stutters, just slightly.

I grin.

Because she’s still so easy to unravel.

And I want to pull every fucking thread.

"The gladiators," she bites out. "The ones who fought with me. Where are they?"

I take my time.

Let my eyes flick over her slowly.

She’s still wearing the battle, even now.

Tension in her shoulders. Heat in her glare. The way her pulse thrums in her throat.

Still ready to fight me.

Even when she knows she’ll lose.

"Some are dead."

I watch the way her chest rises sharply.

I continue.

"The others are in the dungeons. They’ll live—unless I decide otherwise."

Her breath hitches.

She hates this.

Hates that I have this power.

Hates that she gave it to me.

"You’re using them."

"I am keeping them alive."

"At what cost?"

I step closer, until she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze.

"At yours."

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t look away.

But her body is too still.

And I know.

I fucking know.

She’s breaking.

Even if she refuses to show it.

"You want them freed?"

I reach out, brushing my fingers against her jaw, her pulse hammering beneath my touch.

"Then earn it, little warrior."

She shudders.

Not in fear.

But because she knows what I mean.

This war between us is no longer just fought with steel.

Because she is losing.

And I am fucking devouring her.