Page 27 of Sold to the Nalgar
She dared to look up at his face—or rather, his mask. A sleek, silver helm covered every inch of it, blank and unreadable. No eyes to meet. No hint of expression.
Still, she could feel his attention on her. Every movement he made was precise. Calculated. Dominant.
Warlord.
The title echoed in her mind.
This was him. The one who’d ordered her capture. Who had likely paid a fortune to secure her. The one everyone else feared and bowed to.
Now he had her.
She curled her fingers into her palms. Anger sparked beneath the fear, brief and flickering, but it was there. He’d taken her. Stripped her life away like it meant nothing.
And now she was being carried through the halls of his kingdom, wrapped in a robe and shackled by a collar, heading to a fate she couldn’t yet name.
She didn’t want to know what he had planned.
But she feared… she would find out soon.
CHAPTER 15
They passed through door after door.
There were at least a dozen of them, each one heavier and more intricate than the last. The first were simple slabs of stone that hissed open at his approach. But they quickly gave way to doors of gleaming bronze, etched with strange, angular symbols. She didn’t recognize any of it, but it was obvious: they meant something. Authority. Territory. Power.
The walls changed, too, from rough stone to polished metal streaked with dark, gleaming veins. Light shifted subtly as they walked, growing warmer and deeper, like they were stepping into the heart of something sacred.
Or dangerous.
Then the final door opened, and they stepped inside.
Cecilia blinked, startled.
They were in a room. No, not a room.
These were living quarters. Personal. Private.
His.
Tall arched windows lined one wall, framed by thick velvet drapes that spilled onto the floor in deep hues of black and purple. The floors were made of dark stone, polished to a sheen;the air inside was noticeably warmer than that of the hallways. There were no lights she could see, but the room glowed with ambient illumination, pulsing low and gold along the seams of the ceiling and floor.
The walls were decorated in places—more of those sigils etched into metal, subtle but deliberate. Symbols of rank? Clan? She didn’t know.
And then, there was the bed.
Large and monolithic, it was built into a raised stone platform, adorned with velvet throws and strange, silk-like sheets of black and silver. It looked far too luxurious for someone who wore armor like a second skin.
She didn’t have time to consider much more.
He carried her straight to it and deposited her with unsettling gentleness, lowering her like she was breakable, his gauntlets cool against her waist and the bend of her knees. And then, he stepped back.
And stared.
Just stood there, silent, still, watching her with the full weight of his presence pressing down on the room.
Cecilia sat where he placed her, tense and upright, trying to pretend she wasn’t shaking inside. The robe pooled around her thighs. She clutched the fabric tighter around herself, keenly aware of her nakedness beneath it.
She looked up, forcing herself to meet the dark void of his helm.
