Page 85 of Warlord's Plaything

"How long?"

The words leave my mouth before I can think about it.

Xiva stills.

"How long what?"

"How long have you been weaker?"

Silence.

For a second, just a fucking second, I think he might answer. But then, he moves again—faster, sharper. A clean strike, nearly taking my shoulder. I deflect at the last second, my blade catching his.

"I am not weak."

His voice is steady. Controlled.

Too controlled.

And suddenly, I want to fucking hit him.

Not because of the fight.

Not because of whatever lesson he’s trying to carve into my bones.

But I know he’s lying.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"You’re hiding something."

"You sound like a child."

"I’m not a child."I push forward, forcing him back."I see the way you move. I see the fucking difference."

His gaze hardens.

"Do you doubt me?"

"I doubt your honesty."

His lips curl into a sharp, knowing smirk.

"Then that is something we have in common."

I grit my teeth.

This is not how this should feel.

This is not how my father should look after a fight.

He should be unshaken. Unmoved.

But instead—he looks tired.

Like this fight cost him something.

Like the weight of the crown is finally sinking into his fucking bones.