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of both her upper and lower lids.

Her lips were painted a slightly more subdued red, enough to make them stand out but not bright enough that they drew any attention away from her eyes. Or at least the attention that moved away from her dress and other assets.

Her hair was slicked back and twisted up into a thick, high bun on her crown, not a wisp of hair out of place, her fingernails painted black.

She was a vision—a warrior goddess made real.

And Siraay knew that the scars that crossed over her left eye and cheek only added to the look.

As she sashayed her way past the people seated on that side of the table, she noted the stares of the males from the corner of her eye, and knew from the slight parting of lips, from the eyes that strayed over her body, that all of them wanted her.

Yet she kept her eyes on Chezran, only interested in assessing the full measure of his reaction. Because while she had wanted to stun them all with her carefully cultivated look tonight, she had also wanted to remind them that, like them, she was a warrior and someone to be reckoned with. Maybe even feared.

As Siraay drew closer to Chezran, she guessed that the faint smile on his face was probably because he also knew why she had chosen this look. Handsome, powerful, and cunning. Potentially an equal. She would find out.

As she reached him, Chezran drew out her chair for her, and she seated herself gracefully, turning her eyes towards the others at the table as the lord pushed in the chair for her before resuming his own seat.

‘Allow me to introduce my inner circle to you, lady, which is made up of my archons, and my army captains.’ Chezran addressed her formerly, by the title he had given her. ‘At the far the end of the table is my spymaster, Archon Renhed,’ he said, pronouncing the name as ‘Rened’ with a particular emphasis on the n.

A dark-haired female with intense eyes, the spymaster dipped her head to Siraay, her expression unreadable.

‘Across from Archon Renhed is Archon Onan—he looks after the needs and security of Xarcon City.’

Onan dipped his head smoothly to Siraay, his eyes examining her curiously.

‘Then you have Archons Nisos and Atalia—my head technologist and head tactician.’

Siraay looked at the pair sitting opposite each other, glancing quickly at the angular-faced Nisos before switching her attention to Atalia. That a female occupied the likely coveted post of head tactician was very interesting to Siraay, a fact made more so by the look Archon Atalia shot her way even as the female dipped her chin just the tiniest bit.

Atalia had classic features, but her pale skin, hair, and eyes seemed to wash her out. And she obviously wasn’t pleased to see this new addition to her lord’s inner circle.

The doors to the dining hall opened then, and a figure slipped inside, strolling rapidly down the length of the table opposite Siraay to take a place next to Chezran.

For her part, Siraay ignored the disruption, not wanting to miss any part of the lord’s introductions.

‘Then,’ continued Chezran, either not caring about or choosing not to remark on the new arrival’s lateness, ‘you have my three captains, who are in charge of training, preparing, and, ultimately, leading, the divisions of my army—Captain Ziph and Merca to your left and, across the table, Captain Raque, who I believe you already met.’

The captains nodded to Siraay, including the brunette female, Merca, with Raque giving Siraay ia smug smile.

The seat next to Raque remained empty and Chezran gestured to it.

‘My other archon will be late, unfortunately, but across from you I would like to introduce you to my chief archon, Pyron.’

Siraay’s eyes tracked past the empty chair and met the eyes of the chief archon Chezran had just introduced.

Her body tensed and her lungs froze.

She knew those eyes. Knew their steely depths, the wildness and cruelty they contained. Had stared into them a number of times, so that their blue colour was ingrained on her memory.

Silver.

Around the intense blue of his eyes, the familiar silver mask extended down to sit across his nose and cheeks, reflecting the light from the chandeliers positioned high above, the male’s dark hair contrasting against the mask.

Siraay’s thoughts stopped. No wave of anger, no pain, just blankness.

Chezran couldn’t fail to notice her stillness, even if her expression gave nothing away.

He shifted his glance from her to Silver thoughtfully before turning back again. ‘I understand you’ve also met my chief archon before.’

It took a moment for Siraay to activate her powers of speech again. ‘We have.’ Her voice had just a slight hoarseness to it, which she hoped they wouldn’t notice. Revealing any kind of weakness here would be like drawing blood in a cave full of hungry cripwofs.

The memories were spilling through her quickly, and although they were memories of her former self, Siraay couldn’t let go of the fact that it was this male who had tortured her.

Then again, he had done so under Chezran’s orders.

Siraay’s mind coldly analysed the problem as she continued to stare blankly across the table at Pyron, the tension in the room growing thick enough to taste. Yes, Chezran had had her tortured, but he hadn’t known at the time just who, or what, she was. They had obviously thought initially that she was just a female with the ability to Change into multiple forms. And if her previous self had cooperated, they might not have had to torture her.

Regardless, those events remained part of the path that had led her here, so Siraay turned back to Chezran and forced an amused smile onto her face. ‘I do in fact remember … Pyron, was it?’ she said, glancing back at the masked male now scowling across the table at her. ‘And I remember the lacklustre security arrangements.’ She smiled sweetly at Chezran.

The humour she was projecting swiftly dissipated the tension at the table, and Siraay

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