Page 27 of Warlord’s Plaything
27
XYRON
T he High Council chambers reek of rot and old power.
The kind that seeps into the stone, into the fucking bones of this place, lingering long after the bodies have been buried.
I take my seat, back straight, posture unshaken.
Twelve eyes watch me.
Waiting.
Measuring.
Plotting.
They think I don’t see the knives behind their smiles.
They forget—I am the blade in the dark.
And I do not fucking bow.
"You’ve been summoned," Kaelith says smoothly, his voice a slow coil of silk and steel.
I don’t answer immediately.
I don’t have the words.
I already know this is a trap.
"You waste my time, Kaelith," I murmur, leaning back just slightly, letting them know I am not fucking cornered. "Say what you mean, or don’t speak at all."
The tension tightens.
Good.
Let them remember who they are dealing with.
"The Council has concerns," Kaelith continues, ignoring the warning in my tone.
"About?"
"Your distractions."
The fucking trap snapping into place.
"The human," Valis adds, his voice sharper. "The one you parade through the halls. The one you refuse to kill. The one you claim is nothing—yet you keep her close."
A slow smirk curves my lips.
"If you’re so concerned with my bed, Valis, I can send for someone to warm yours."
Laughter ripples through the chamber, sharp and cutting.
Valis doesn’t smile.
Good.
I want him fucking mad.
Men who are angry make mistakes.
And I am waiting for mine to make one big enough to bury him.
Kaelith tilts his chin, feigning amusement.
"You’re losing control, Xyron."
"Am I?"
"You let the rebellion breathe when it should have been snuffed out."
"I took care of the rebellion."
"No," Kaelith says, and this time, his smirk is sharper. "You played with it. Just as you’re playing with her."
I grip the armrest of my chair, fingers curling against the smooth obsidian. I’m not angry, not cornered. But they think I am. And that means they’ve finally revealed their hand.
"Tell me, Kaelith," I muse, voice smooth, deadly. "Do you want her dead because she’s dangerous? Or because she reminds you how weak you truly are?"
The silence that follows is thick.
Suffocating.
Kaelith’s eyes narrow just slightly.
Valis stiffens.
And I know.
I fucking know.
I just hit something raw.
"You are reckless," Kaelith finally says, his voice smooth, even. "And recklessness breeds weakness."
"So you wish to replace me?"
His smirk deepens.
"Not yet."
A movement at the far end of the chamber catches my attention.
A figure stepping into the light.
Old. Regal. Fucking dangerous.
My father.
Xiva.
For a moment, the room goes still.
Even now—even of old age—Xiva is a force that commands silence.
His steps are measured, unhurried.
But I see it.
The way his fingers twitch just slightly.
The way his jaw tenses.
The way his movements aren’t as sharp as they should be.
"What is this?" his voice is quiet, but it does not need volume to carry weight.
Kaelith smiles, too smooth, too well-practiced.
"Merely a discussion, my Lord."
"A discussion about my son?"
"A discussion about House Herox," Valis corrects.
Xiva’s gaze sharpens.
And for a second, just a fucking second, I think he might actually gut them all where they sit.
I wish he would.
But he doesn’t.
He still plays by the old rules.
He still thinks this court can be controlled.
He is wrong.
"I grow tired of these games," Xiva finally says, voice laced with warning. "My son will answer to me. Not to you."
"Of course, my Lord," Kaelith says, bowing just slightly, just enough to feign submission.
But I see it.
The glint in his eyes.
The slow, creeping shift in power.
The first fucking real crack.
Xiva turns to me.
His eyes are fading at the edges, dulled by something I can’t quite name.
"Walk with me."
A command.
I rise.
No matter what, I am still his son.
And whatever is coming—this might be the last time we ever stand on the same side.