30. Rylan
30
RYLAN
T he moment we step out of the dungeon, Seraphina heaves.
Not a sob. Not a cry of fear.
But laughter.
A breathless, shaking, gasping sort of laughter, the kind that sounds too close to breaking.
She staggers forward, bracing herself against the cold stone wall, sucking in ragged breaths like the air itself is poison. Her skin is pale—too pale—her fingers trembling against the rough surface.
I should be satisfied.
I should be.
But instead, I narrow my eyes as she gives a shuddering exhale and mutters, "I really thought you were gonna ask me to whip you by the end of that."
I blink.
For a brief moment, I almost wonder if I misheard her.
But no—she’s grinning. Grinning.
I take a slow, deliberate step forward. “Shaken, little thief?” My voice is smooth, mocking. “You’ve seen death before. What was different this time?”
She presses her forehead to the cool stone wall, still catching her breath. “Nothing, really. I just have a new fun fact to hold onto—" she turns to look at me, teeth flashing in something sharp, something reckless—"you definitely get off on power plays.”
I exhale through my nose, my patience thinning. “Careful, Seraphina.”
She hums. “Or what? You’ll punish me? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re the only one in this building with a thing for pain.”
She gestures vaguely to the dungeon door behind us.
I bite back a chuckle. Amused despite myself.
Even now, she defies me.
Even now, when her body betrays her with its tremors, when her hands shake at her sides, when she is clearly shaken.
I step closer. Too close.
I press my palm against the stone beside her head, trapping her without touching her.
She doesn’t shrink away.
But her breath hitches. A fraction of a second. But I catch it.
“Tell me,” I murmur, leaning in so only she can hear, “how much more can you endure before you shatter?”
Her lips part—maybe to snap at me, maybe to finally confess the thing she’s hiding?—
Screams.
A distant boom shakes the Midnight Den, rattling the floor beneath our feet.
Seraphina jerks back.
I snap my head toward the hallway, where the air suddenly smells of smoke and steel.
Another explosion shakes the walls, followed by the unmistakable sound of shouting, steel clashing against steel.
Something is wrong.
I move fast.
I reach the nearest window. The view from the second level gives me a perfect sight of the horror below.
And just as I feared?—
Assassins.
More of them.
Dark elves, clad in shadow, pour into the Den’s entrance, cutting through my men like butchered animals.
Fuck.
I curse under my breath, my grip tightening against the window ledge.
This is precision.
This is planned.
And I know exactly whose work this is.
Lartina.
I should have killed her.
I should have torn her throat out the moment she tried to get into my bed again.
Instead, I played my game too carefully, too patiently—I wanted to use her against Nhilian.
Now she’s using me.
A mistake I will never make again.
The door slams shut behind me.
I turn in time to see Seraphina backing away, her face pale, her eyes widened with understanding.
She knows.
She knows that if Lartina’s men are here, they are also here for her.
She brought this on us.
I move fast.
Too fast.
She barely has time to react before I have my hand wrapped around her wrist, dragging her forward.
She stumbles but doesn’t fight me. Not yet.
"This is on you," I snarl, yanking her through the corridors. "Whatever you stole from Lartina—whatever you’re hiding—it just made you worth starting a war over."
She gasps, wrenching against my hold, but I don’t let her go.
"I didn’t?—"
I snap my head toward her, fury blazing through my veins like wildfire.
"Don’t lie to me."
She swallows hard, but she doesn’t try to deny it again.
Good.
At least she knows better than to insult my intelligence.
The screams intensify.
Flames lick the outer walls of the Den.
I don’t stop.
I drag Seraphina toward the passage door—a hidden escape route buried deep within the Den’s stone foundation.
I shove it open with one hand, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel descending into the earth.
Seraphina hesitates.
I yank her forward, forcing her inside.
"We don’t have time for your pride, little thief." My voice is low, dangerous. "If you want to stay here and die, be my guest. But I am leaving."
She glares at me, eyes flashing with fury. But she doesn’t argue. Not when the walls shake again. Not when another violent explosion rocks the upper levels. Not when the sound of boots and steel gets too close.
This place is lost.
And I will not die here.
But when the dust settles, when I finally cut off Lartina’s head for this, Seraphina and I will finish this conversation.
After tonight, one thing is clear.
She isn’t just a pawn in this game.