Page 33 of Warlord’s Plaything

33

HIRA

T he underground tunnels reek of sweat, damp earth, and blood.

The space is overflowing, too thick, pressing against my ribs like a fucking vice.

Everything is wrong.

Everything is falling apart.

And I let it happen.

I lean against the rough stone wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly my teeth ache.

The rebellion moves around me like shadows—whispers, footsteps, low voices plotting their next move.

But I barely hear them.

My thoughts are trapped elsewhere.

I still feel his hands on me.

I taste his fucking name on my tongue.

Xyron.

Warlord.

King without a throne.

I shove the thought away, tilting my head back, staring at the jagged ceiling.

Get your shit together, Hira.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him.

I shouldn’t fucking care.

He’s a dark elf. A monster.

And yet—he’s in chains.

He’s going to die.

And that thought—that fucking thought—makes something inside me burn.

"You've finally showed your face. I was beginning to think you were dead."

The voice snaps me from my thoughts.

I blink, turning to see Varian standing a few feet away, arms folded.

Varian—the human warleader, one of the rebellion’s strongest voices.

He’s watching me too closely, like he sees the war I refuse to name.

"Didn’t know you cared," I mutter, pushing off the wall.

"I don’t." His smirk is sharp. "But I know when someone’s about to do something stupid."

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders, forcing the tension out of my bones.

"What do you want, Varian?"

"I want to know what the hell you’re thinking."

He steps closer, gaze hard, knowing.

"I know the warlord was captured."

My fingers twitch.

"Don’t call him that."

"Why? He's not a warlord anymore?"

Words elude me.

I don’t want to say anything.

Even I don’t know what I’m feeling.

And that makes me angry.

Varian studies me, then tilts his head.

"You know they’re executing him, right?"

My stomach lurches.

I don’t react. I don’t let him see the hit land.

But it does. Fuck, it does.

"You think I’m unaware?" I bite out.

"Then why are you still here?"

My jaw tightens.

"Where the fuck else would I be?"

Varian smirks like he already knows.

"In the dungeons. With him."

A sharp pang of fury shoots through me.

I grab Varian by the front of his shirt, slamming him back against the rough stone wall.

He grins. The bastard fucking grins.

"Hit a nerve?" he taunts.

I want to punch him.

I want to break something, hurt something, scream.

Instead, I step back.

"Fuck off, Varian."

"Make me."

I narrow my eyes, but he only laughs, shaking his head.

"You might be able to deceive yourself, Hira. But you can’t lie to me."

He leans in, voice dropping.

"You care what happens to him."

I don’t answer.

My thoughts are already drifting back to Xyron—to the bruises on his knuckles, the blood at the corner of his mouth, the way he stood tall even when the world fucking crumbled around him.

He should not be caged.

Someone like him should not be on his knees.

He should not fucking die.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

Varian sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"We could use his execution as an opportunity."

My stomach turns.

"What?"

"The Council will be vulnerable. We let them bring him to the execution grounds, then we strike."

His grin is sharp, ruthless.

"We turn the warlord’s death into the beginning of our revolution."

The thought makes my skin go ice cold.

It means letting them take him to the edge of death.

It means watching him bleed.

It means gambling with something I don’t think I can fucking stomach.

I exhale slowly, flexing my hands.

"And what if he dies before we get there?"

Varian shrugs.

"Then we use his corpse as a martyr."

I snap.

Before I can think, I slam him back against the wall again, this time with a knife pressed to his throat.

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t flinch.

"You so much as breathe the words ‘his corpse’ again," I growl, "and I will fucking gut you."

Varian chuckles.

"Now that’s interesting."

I don’t move.

Neither does he.

The silence between us is thick, tense.

But the truth is there.

Hanging.

Undeniable.

I step back, shoving the knife away.

"I’ll get him out before then."

Varian tilts his head.

"You sure you’re not in love with him?"

I freeze.

I don’t breathe.

Then, slowly, I look at him.

"Say that again, and I’ll cut out your tongue."

He smirks.

"Hit a nerve again?"

I don’t answer.

I walk away.

I don’t want to heart it.

Not yet.