Page 20 of Naga Warlord's Mate

“I don’t need an escort,” Priscilla muttered, though her pulse quickened at his proximity.

“The Xirath are not to be trusted.” His voice dropped lower. “Keep your distance from them.”

“Why? Afraid they’ll damage your perfect example of human integration?”

Andear’s hand shot out, gripping her arm. The touch sent electricity through her body. “This is not about politics. They are predators.”

“I know predators when I see them.” Priscilla yanked her arm free, memories of her enslaved past flashing through her mind. “I’ve spent my life being used by the likes of their kind.”

“Then why are you here?”

The question hit too close to home. She was here because she’d been summoned because some part of her still responded to orders like a trained pet. The realization made her sick.

“Because I’m expected to be,” she admitted, hating the truth of it.

Something flickered in Andear’s golden eyes—understanding, perhaps. Or pity. She couldn’t tell which would be worse.

The Xirath delegation approached the palace steps, their boots clicking in perfect synchronization. Priscilla’s chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to run.

Priscilla’s footsteps echoed through the marble corridors as Andear guided her toward the council’s chamber. His large form blocked her peripheral vision, creating a living wall between her and the curious onlookers. The warmth radiating from him helped steady her racing pulse, though she kept her expression neutral.

“Head high,” Andear murmured, his voice so low only she could hear it. “You’re not their prize to display.”

The council’s chamber opened before them, a vast circular room with towering columns reaching toward a domed ceiling. Andear’s hand brushed her lower back as he directed her to a position near the center, staying close enough that his presence remained a tangible shield. She was grateful for him at this moment, though she’d never admit it out loud.

Zarlok approached with calculated grace, his silver-scaled armor catching the light filtering through the high windows. His eyes reminded her of polished obsidian—dark and lifeless.

“Ah, the human specimen.” Zarlok’s forked tongue flicked out between words. “I’ve heard fascinating things about your... integration into Niri society.”

Priscilla’s skin crawled at his use of “specimen.” She felt Andear tense beside her.

“I prefer Priscilla,” she said, keeping her voice calm despite the way her heart hammered. “And I’m not a specimen.”

Zarlok’s lips curved into what might have been meant as a smile but looked more like a predator baring its teeth. “Of course. My apologies.” He circled her slowly, and Priscilla fought the urge to step closer to Andear. “You seem... different from the humans in our territories. More... spirited.”

“The humans in your territories are slaves,” Andear cut in, his voice carrying the edge of a blade. “Priscilla is a free citizen of Nirum.”

“Yes, yes.” Zarlok waved a dismissive hand. “Your people’s peculiar stance on human rights. Though I must admit…” His gaze raked over Priscilla again. “I see the appeal of keeping certain specimens... close.”

Andear’s growl vibrated through the air between them. Priscilla placed a subtle hand on his arm, surprised by her own instinct to calm him. His muscles were coiled tightly beneath her touch, ready to strike.

“I’m not kept,” Priscilla said, meeting Zarlok’s cold stare. “I choose to be here.”

The Xirath leader’s expression shifted, something calculating replacing his false politeness. “How fascinating. We shall have much to discuss during these negotiations.”

Priscilla studied the Xirath delegation from her position near the council table, her fingers twisting in the folds of her dress. Zarlok gestured with fluid grace as he spoke of advanced weaponry and trade routes. But his movements reminded her too much of her former master, Kurg—the same calculated precision, the same hidden agenda behind pretty words.

“Our medical facilities could benefit your population greatly,” Zarlok said, his obsidian eyes sweeping the room. “Particularly in terms of fertility treatments.”

Several council members leaned forward with interest, but Priscilla noticed how Andear’s massive frame tensed, his hands gripping the edge of the table. The wood creaked under his strength.

“And of course,” Zarlok continued, “our agricultural technology would triple your crop yields within the first season.”

Priscilla recognized the tactic—start with the benefits and then hook them with promises of prosperity. Kurg had done the same thing, offering protection to desperate families before enslaving them. She watched the council members nodding along, already imagining the possibilities.

But Andear’s reaction caught her attention. His golden eyes tracked every Xirath movement like a predator assessing threats. His jaw clenched when they mentioned military “cooperation,” and his nostrils flared at their casual mentions of human territories.

The head councilor raised his hand. “These are impressive offerings. What would you require in return?”

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