Page 44 of Warlord’s Plaything

44

XYRON

T he moment he steps into the tunnels, I know I’m going to kill him.

The scent of sweat, iron, and old war clings to his skin, his movements too casual for a man walking into a den of enemies.

Menias.

Orc-blooded, broad-shouldered, his eyes sharp as a blade pressed against a throat.

He looks at us like he’s already won.

Like we are the ones kneeling.

And the sick part?

He’s right.

Hira is stone beside me.

Silent.

Still.

But I can see it in the way her fingers twitch at her sides.

The way she won’t meet my gaze.

She knows.

Knows this moment was coming.

Knows what he’s about to say.

Knows that, no matter how much I hate it, we are out of options.

"You look like shit, warlord."

Menias' voice drips with amusement.

Like this is a fucking joke.

Like we aren’t standing in the rotting guts of our rebellion, bleeding and broken.

My blade is in my hand before I realize I’ve drawn it.

But Hira’s voice cuts through the atmosphere first.

"Don’t."

Just one word.

Flat. Cold. Like steel against my spine.

I don’t lower my weapon.

I don’t breathe.

I have never hated someone more than I hate him in this moment.

"You came here for a reason, Menias."

Hira’s voice is calm. Controlled.

It pisses me off.

I know her.

I know she wants to drive her fist into his face.

I know she wants to tear him apart, limb by limb, for daring to stand before us after everything.

But instead?—

She’s listening.

She’s letting him speak.

And that makes me fucking sick.

"You’re outnumbered, girl," Menias says smoothly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Your rebellion is nothing but scraps. Your people? Wiped out. Your territory? Gone. Your warlord?—"

His eyes flick to me, mocking, taunting.

"—Hanging on by a thread."

A snarl rips from my throat.

But Hira’s hand grips my wrist.

Tight. Warning.

I hate it.

I hate that she has to stop me.

I hate that I let her.

"Get to the fucking point." Her voice is ice.

Menias actually looks serious.

He turns his head, watching her.

Calculating. Weighing.

Then—

"I have an army."

The words hit like a hammer to the chest.

The room goes still.

The murmurs from our soldiers—what little we have left—die in the air.

An army.

A real one.

Not starving gladiators, not desperate runaways.

Not men who are only fighting as there is nothing left to do but die swinging.

A real fucking army.

And he is offering it.

To her.

To us.

To this war.

"What’s the price?"

Hira doesn’t hesitate.

She knows.

We all fucking know.

Menias' smile is slow, sharp, designed to cut.

"The same. You marry an orc chieftain. You bind yourself to his clan. And in return—he will lead our forces against Kaelith and his council."

A silence thick enough to suffocate fills the tunnels.

I hear the flicker of torches.

The distant, faint echo of war still burning above us.

But all I can see is her.

Hira.

Standing before a man who claims to be her blood.

A man who would sell her like fucking cattle in exchange for war.

"No."

I don’t think.

I just say it.

Sharp. Final.

But Hira?—

She doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t fucking answer.

And that’s when I realize?—

She’s considering it.

Rage slams through me, white-hot and all-consuming.

"You’re not seriously thinking about this."

I step toward her.

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t even look at me.

"Hira."

She flinches.

Just barely.

But enough.

Enough for me to see it.

The doubt.

The guilt.

The goddamn weight of everything pressing down on her.

And it makes me fucking furious.

"You want to win this war?"

Menias spreads his arms wide, like a generous fucking king.

"Then take the deal. You want to survive? You want your people to survive? You want your lover over here to live long enough to be useful again?"

He grins.

"Then do what needs to be done."

I see it.

The moment she cracks.

The moment she starts to fold.

And I can’t fucking stand it.

"If you do this," I growl, dangerously low, stepping in front of her now, blocking her from his view. "I will burn that fucking clan to the ground before I let them take you."

A flicker of something dark passes through Menias’ expression.

Amusement.

Challenge.

Like he’s waiting to see who she’ll choose.

But I already know.

I know Hira.

I know this woman.

I love her.

And she loves me.

And she won’t do this.

She won’t fucking do this.

She meets my eyes.

And something in her shatters.

"I need time." Her voice is barely a whisper.

Menias tilts his head, smirking.

"You have one day, little warlord."

He turns, walking away, walking back into the dark.

But I don’t watch him go.

All I can see is her.

My Hira. Falling apart.

And I don’t know how to hold her together.