Page 8 of Warlord’s Plaything

8

XYRON

T he arena hums with anticipation.

It’s a different kind of energy tonight—not the usual drunken, bloodthirsty fervor that rolls through the noble stands like thick, oppressive heat.

No.

Tonight, there’s a different hunger in the air.

A hunger for a reckoning.

I sit in my usual place, elevated above the pit, the cool stone of my throne pressing into my back. Below, the sands glow gold and crimson under torchlight, the blood of past fights already darkening the earth.

The crowd wants a show.

They want obedience.

And Hira is about to spit in their fucking faces.

I knew it the second she stepped onto the sand.

Knew it by the way she walked, slow and deliberate, as if the chains meant nothing to her.

By the way she lifted her chin, the flickering fire casting sharp shadows across her cheekbones.

By the way her gaze locked onto mine, unblinking, defiant.

She’s about to test me.

Of course she is.

I’ve given her too much leash. Let her play too long.

She thinks this is a game.

And I think I’m going to enjoy reminding her it’s not.

The announcer’s voice booms through the air, a guttural chant rolling off his tongue, something about tradition, honor, and the blood owed to the sands.

The nobles cheer as Hira’s opponent is led into the ring.

A massive beast of a man, twice her size, a brute bred for slaughter.

The betting slips exchange hands, gold changing ownership as they wager on how fast she’ll fall.

I already know the outcome.

But I don’t think they do.

I lean forward slightly.

Show me what you’ll do, little warrior.

The signal is given.

Her opponent lunges?—

And Hira does nothing.

The arena goes silent.

A moment too long.

A breath too heavy.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t lift her fists.

Doesn’t reach for the dagger strapped to her thigh.

She stands perfectly still, arms loose at her sides, unfazed.

My fingers tighten around the armrest.

Oh, you clever little thing.

The brute hesitates, momentarily confused. Then he lunges again, his blade whistling through the air.

She sidesteps, effortless, lazy.

He swings. She ducks.

But she doesn’t fight back.

She’s making a fucking spectacle of this.

The crowd erupts.

Boos. Shouts. Angry, drunken jeers.

The announcer stammers, voice cracking. This isn’t supposed to happen.

I watch her—closely, carefully.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She knows they expect her to fight.

She knows they expect her to obey.

And she’s giving them nothing.

A noble rises from his seat, furious.

"This is an insult!" he shouts, voice shrill, full of red-faced entitlement.

The council members murmur among themselves, brows furrowing. They’re waiting for me to act. Waiting for me to put her back in her place.

But I don’t move.

Not yet.

I want to see how far she’ll go.

The brute snarls, frustrated now. He feints left, then lunges forward, aiming for the kill.

Hira lets him get close. Too close. But she drops her weapon.

The clang of metal hitting the ground is deafening.

She kneels.

Not in submission.

No, she kneels like a fucking executioner.

And when she lifts her head, locking eyes with me across the arena, the smirk on her lips is slow, sharp, dangerous.

Fucking hells.

I exhale slowly, dragging my tongue over my teeth.

The crowd erupts into chaos.

Half of them are screaming for her blood.

The other half?

They’re watching.

Realizing that something different is happening tonight.

A noble beside me spits in disgust.

"This is unacceptable," he hisses. "That human bitch needs to be made an example of."

I don’t look at him.

I don’t even fucking blink.

I’m too focused on her.

The way she holds my stare.

The way her breath rises and falls, steady and unafraid.

She’s daring me to react.

Daring me to punish her.

She thinks she understands me.

Thinks she knows the rules of this game.

She doesn’t.

I rise slowly.

The council members immediately shut up.

I descend from my throne, taking my time. Letting the tension swell, thicken.

By the time I step into the pit, the noise fades.

Everyone is watching.

Hira doesn’t move.

She waits.

Smart.

I reach her.

Stop.

Stand over her, looking down.

She tilts her head. Smirks. "Come to kill me yourself, my lord ?"

The way she says it—mocking, slow, filled with heat.

The crowd holds its breath.

They expect a blow.

A strike.

A fucking public execution.

But I do something far worse.

I bend down, slow and deliberate, until my lips brush her ear.

And I whisper?—

"Get up."

Her body shudders.

She hates that she reacts.

I see it in the way her fingers curl into fists, the way her breath catches, the way her pulse jumps.

She stands.

I watch her rise, slow and smooth, until we are face to face.

Her pupils dilate.

She’s angry.

And excited.

I let my fingers skim the inside of her wrist, slow, testing.

She doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

The moment stretches, thick and poisonous.

Then I turn to the nobles, voice calm, cruel.

"She is mine to punish."

The murmurs start immediately.

But no one dares argue.

I’ve made it clear.

She belongs to me.

And the only person who gets to break her...

Is me.