Page 6 of Warlord’s Plaything

6

XYRON

T he air down here is thick. Wet with sweat, blood, and the stink of men who live on the edge of death.

The slave pits are cut deep beneath the fortress, a place carved into the very rock itself—a labyrinth of cells and training grounds where flesh is honed for slaughter.

I walk through the dim torchlight, my boots echoing against the ground as I move deeper, past the rows of cages, past the broken things waiting to die.

They watch me with dull, defeated eyes.

All except one.

Hira stands in the center of the chamber, flanked by her gladiators like a queen among the damned. No chains, no collar—just defiance wrapped in human skin.

The flickering light kisses the sweat on her collarbones, highlights the bruises along her arms. The silks I gave her are gone, replaced with worn leathers, battle-stained, blood-darkened.

She looks like a fucking war prize.

And she knows it.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The words drop like a blade, and the tension in the pit shifts.

The other fighters go still, their gazes flicking between me and her.

She doesn’t turn immediately. Instead, she lifts a water flask to her lips, drinks slowly, deliberately, letting a single drop roll down her throat.

Then, finally—she looks at me.

And godsdamn me, but that smirk is a dangerous fucking thing.

"Not at all, my lord."

She draws out the title like poison dipped in honey.

The other gladiators don’t speak, but I can feel them watching, waiting.

They’re watching, wanting me to break her.

For her to break me.

For blood.

For something else.

I take a slow step toward her, and the crowd parts like shadows.

The heat between us is immediate.

"You’ve been busy," I murmur.

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. "Have I?"

I glance at Dagen, who shifts beside her—like a dog circling his fucking master. His scarred face is unreadable, but the tension in his stance is clear.

"Making allies," I continue, lowering my voice as I move closer. "Whispering in the dark. And here I thought you were just trying to survive."

"Survival looks different for all of us, doesn’t it?"

Her voice is smooth, but there’s steel beneath it.

I step closer. Deliberate. Slow. Measured.

She doesn’t move.

"And what exactly is it you’re surviving, Hira?"

She exhales slowly, nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Then she smiles—a slow, wicked thing that shouldn’t look so good on a slave.

"You."

The room goes silent.

A dark, sharp thrill slides through my blood, low and vicious.

Gods.

She doesn’t just defy me—she enjoys it.

I move fast.

One moment I’m watching her, the next—I have her pinned against the wall.

A sharp inhale. Her back collides with the wall, but she doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she grins up at me like she’s already won.

I press in, caging her. Letting her feel my body, my heat, my breath brushing over her skin.

"Try again," I murmur, voice a low rasp.

Her hands come up, palms against my chest, not to push me away—but to test.

To see how far she can go.

I let her.

This is about the game.

"You think they’ll follow you?" I whisper, my lips just a breath away from her ear.

She shudders—fucking shudders—but masks it quick, lifting her chin.

"They already do," she murmurs.

I grip her throat.

Not squeezing. Not cutting off air.

Just holding.

Feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips.

She lets me.

She fucking lets me.

And that’s how I know?—

She’s just as lost in this as I am.

"Do you know what happens to creatures that rise too far, too fast?" I murmur, thumb brushing against the curve of her jaw.

Her lips part slightly, breathing uneven.

"Enlighten me, warlord."

I lean in, until my lips are just above hers, until I can feel her breath on my mouth.

"They fall."

Then, just as softly, she says, "Not if I bring you down with me."

My grip tightens.

She smiles.

And by the Gods, so do I.

I release her, stepping back.

The moment is broken, but the tension lingers, heavy as a blade.

I look at the others, watching, waiting.

Then I speak, voice dark, final. "You want power, Hira?" I nod to the gladiators. "Take it."

Then I turn, walking away.

I want to see what she does next.

I want to see her fucking burn.