Page 32 of Warlord’s Plaything

32

XYRON

T he chains bite deep.

Cold iron, laced with dark enchantments, burns into my wrists, sinking past flesh, past bone, into something deeper—something raw and ancient inside me.

Power, suppressed. Caged.

The very thing I once commanded now coils inside me like a dying beast.

I am truly powerless.

The dungeon reeks of blood, damp stone, and decay.

A fitting fucking grave for a warlord.

The only light comes from the torches lining the walls, flickering shadows against rough-hewn rock.

It is cold. Not the kind that numbs—but the kind that burrows into your bones, festers there, eats you from the inside out.

Or maybe that’s just rage.

I exhale through my teeth, rolling my wrists against my restraints.

They don’t give.

The Council knew exactly how to break me.

Not with swords. Not with steel.

But with a cage.

With a fucking collar around my throat and iron around my wrists.

And still—I refuse to bow.

"You look like shit."

The voice slithers through the silence, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade.

Kaelith.

The serpent. The traitor.

The spineless fuck who had been waiting for this very moment.

"Enjoying yourself?" My voice is rough, scraped raw from disuse, but the smirk in it is undeniable. "I assume you’ve been waiting for this day for a long time."

Kaelith chuckles, stepping closer, his polished boots clicking against the floor. "Longer than you know, warlord."

Not warlord anymore.

The words are unspoken, but they hang between us, thick with meaning.

Kaelith stands over me, eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You lost, Xyron."

I finally look up, meeting his gaze, letting my hatred settle between us. "Not yet."

His smirk doesn’t falter.

If anything, it widens.

"Still delusional. Still clinging to power like a dying dog snapping at scraps." He crouches, studying me like one might study a caged beast. "You think she’ll come for you?"

The words hit harder than I expect.

A flicker of something I can’t name claws at my ribs.

No.

I won’t give him this.

I won’t let him dig under my skin.

"I don’t need her to." My voice is steady. Even.

Lies taste like steel on my tongue.

Kaelith tilts his head, eyes sharp.

"Interesting." He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You almost had me convinced. Almost. But we both know better, don’t we?" He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "You think I don’t see it? The way you looked at her?"

My muscles coil.

"The way you wanted her, even when you shouldn’t have?"

I clench my jaw. Say nothing.

Kaelith smiles, slow and knowing.

"The way she left you."

I snap the chains.

Or I try to.

The enchanted steel burns hotter, sending searing pain ripping through my arms.

I grit my teeth, refusing to make a sound, refusing to let him see the agony curling in my blood.

But Kaelith sees.

He always sees.

And he fucking laughs.

"There it is." He steps back, clasping his hands behind his back. "The truth."

I force my breathing to steady.

I won’t let him win.

But the truth is a rotting wound in my gut.

She ran.

She fucking ran.

And maybe that’s what cuts the deepest.

Not the chains. Not the betrayal.

But her absence.

"You don’t have to die, you know." Kaelith’s voice is almost gentle. Almost. "You could confess. Tell them you killed him. Tell them you poisoned your own father in your lust for power."

I laugh.

The sound is hollow, bitter. "You must think I’m fucking stupid."

Kaelith sighs, shaking his head. "No. Just desperate."

I bare my teeth. "You want a confession? Come closer. I’ll carve it into your fucking throat."

He chuckles, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze. "She won’t come for you, Xyron."

His voice is softer now. "She’s already forgotten you."

The words are a dagger right between the ribs.

I know what he’s doing.

I fucking know.

And still, it lodges deep.

Some sick, twisted part of me believes it.

Kaelith studies me, waiting for something. I don’t give it to him. I school my features, let my lips curve into a smirk.

"You talk too much."

His jaw ticks. Then, he smiles. "Very well. I’ll let you stew in your delusions a little longer." He steps back, motioning to the guards. “Tomorrow, we’ll see how well you hold up in front of an audience."