Page 32 of Nocturn

There were four realms, all with their own Warlord.

He let out a sharp hiss, releasing my nape. I rubbed the back of my neck, looking up at him.

“You can read Larien.” Awe simmered under his tone.

I sucked in a breath. The Lost Language? A language only Saints would have been able to communicate in. Impossible. I studied the tense lines on his face. A strand of his tawny hair draped across his brow.

Lord Draven had no need to lie.

I returned my focus to the swirling text. I could read Larien?

“That is why it fades in and out.” I blinked, then the scrawl began to look less like symbols and became words. “I thought it was my vision.”

Did that mean there were five Warlords? Why had I never heard of this? Questions bubbled behind my lips, but one glance at his far-off look, and I clamped them down, turning my focus to the map of the Barren. If I memorized this, it would help me survive and I would not only rely on Liadan.

“I created a key of what I can recall, but I must have done it wrong.” Frustration coated his words, and he seemed to bristle with energy. I ripped my gaze away from the map before he grew suspicious.

Lord Draven seemed so different as he stood, perplexed. He grabbed my arms, pulling me closer. The seam where red and gold met at the center of his irises pulsed as he scanned me.

“You can read Larien,” he repeated, the awe not lost.

A creak forced him to release me quickly. I caught myself on the edge of his desk.

Lady Drusilla entered, carrying a tray with a silver goblet.

“Fetch it.”

It took me a moment to realize he was speaking to me. I hurried over and the panels of my dress fluttered around me with my quick steps.

Lady Drusilla raised a brow and handed over the silver platter. I inclined my head the slightest bit. I recognized rank, and here, I was lesser.

I skillfully balanced the goblet on the tray on my return to the desk.

“You are dismissed, Drusilla.” He flicked a finger toward the exit.

“Yes, my lord.” The door shut.

Sapphire blood moved within the cup with my steps. The liquid filmed the sides of the metal goblet as it sluggishly swished around.

“Continue reading, redblood,” he ordered.

Distaste curled around the title.

“Why do you hate redbloods so much?”

If I hoped to get closer to him, to gain his trust so he allowed me a touch of freedom, I needed to understand what I was battling against.

He set those unfathomable eyes on me. Eyes that had seen centuries of war and death.

“They cannot be trusted.”

“But fitting all redbloods within a jar is not fair.”

A wealth of anger slid into my tone. This was why I’d remained silent, and why I could for so long. Even if in my silence I could hide something, my tone could not.

His lips twitched. “Who made you believe realms were fair?” He cocked his head. His brow furrowed.

He spoke truth. Lord Draven leaned forward, fingers tapping atop the scroll arms of his seat.