The Viceroy's words echoed in her mind, resonating with a discomforting truth. Why was Mavislin so quick to align herself with him, knowing full well they stood on opposing sides?
They were enemies by nature, drawn together only by the looming threat of a common adversary. But even the adage "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" felt hollow.
Trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered, and yet here she was, wagering her life on a man she should despise. Logic dictated caution, but something in his demeanor, his calculated precision, convinced her he could be relied on—if only for now.
In this volatile alliance, she wasn't seeking friendship, just a means to an end. Still, a nagging doubt lingered—how long could she count on him before this temporary truce unraveled into betrayal?
"From what I've heard, you may be a ruthless person but a peerless war general. Your expertise in combat and conquest is undeniable. Even leaders of nations would think twice to stand up against you for it would be like snatching candy from a baby."
"Drunk on power is what Mattheos called you but he doesn't deny that you have the skills to back up your victories. A walking terror to most but all one needs to do is just read a bit deeper into your actions and ruling."
"Because I understand that you remain keenly aware of the skills and strengths of your men, and you leverage their abilities to your advantage."
"Your strategic use of their talents underscores your tactical acumen and the depth of your understanding of their value in achieving your objectives."
"Even if it was for the sake of you slaughtering more innocent people or taking over more lands under the guise of your father's goal, you are still giving a moment of false hope and praise to whomever you've chosen to use."
"Even if the said person was turned into your meat shield."
Zenos gave a smile and chuckled, astounded that Mavislin was aware of his behavior on the battlefield. Did she get this from reports or has the dragoness witnessed his finesse on the warzone before?
"And are you terrified or disgusted about it?" quizzed the blonde as he rested his cheek on his hand, never pulling off his gaze on his trophy.
"If I happened to be so, then I wouldn't have risen so far up the ranks of the Syndicate. The only problem I have is with your alliance with the Northern Cartel."
"If we were just talking about groups, then the Syndicate and the Northern Cartel have no history of bad blood, just a few skirmishes and teasing."
"Then what would be the issue?"
"I used to be in the Southern Cartel, an enemy to your forces. Go figure," spat Mavislin as her eyes darkened, her sweet smile fading.
"Why do you mention such sensitive information to me?"
"You, of all people, showed me kindness. Despite being a ruthless war general, you've shown me more compassion than my own people ever did. For that, I offer you this information. Use it however you like, it's of no concern to me."
"But there's another reason I choose to work with you—I know betrayal isn't in your nature, not when it would cost you the one thing you crave: the chance to face me in battle. I know you could never resist that, no matter what."
"And if you're sharp enough to notice, that means I know quite a bit about you as the war general commanding the Northern Cartel's front lines. After all, I was the damned rat forced to uncover what kind of chaos your men were plotting."
"I've watched you long enough to know exactly what drives you. So, I suppose that answers your earlier question—how I learned about the person you truly are, behind the bloodshed and tactics."
Zenos's lips curled into a faint, amused smile as he glided over to the wardrobe. With a practiced hand, he opened the doors and began sifting through its contents.
Mavislin watched with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, her slender tail gently drumming against the soft bed's surface. The Viceroy's movements were deliberate and elegant, betraying none of the amusement that danced in his eyes.
After a moment, he emerged from the wardrobe holding a black nightdress adorned with crimson ribbons at the waist and collar. The garment's rich fabric caught the dim light, casting a subtle, eerie sheen.
He placed the nightdress beside her with a casual grace, as though presenting a rare treasure. Mavislin's brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at the dress. She looked up at Zenos, her eyes questioning.
The implications of his gesture were unclear, and the soft rustling of the nightdress on the bed seemed almost to mock her uncertainty.