CHAPTER 123: HER GAME

Hadrian’s mind began to stitch the pieces together, though his body recoiled from the answer. His mouth went dry, but the name slipped out anyway, hoarse and unwilling:

"Lazira..."

The sound of it clawed down his spine.

He had heard her name whispered in the gutters and muttered in the emperor’s halls alike, always spoken with that peculiar mixture of fear and fascination. She was a shadow no torch could banish, a serpent coiled in silk. Men who fell into her snares begged for release yet returned crawling, ruined and grateful for it.

And now... she stood here. Alive. Breathing. All the whispers he had collected, all the tales that had seemed exaggerated, suddenly took shape before him. The predator was not a rumor. She was real, and she was watching him.

He remembered the failed attempts—the bribes, the spies, the traps set to draw her out. She had eluded them all. One moment she seemed to prop up the emperor’s cause, the next she toyed with him as though daring him to bare his teeth. By the time her name reached his ears, she already commanded so much power that no knife could cut her free from her throne. Even the emperor had learned to tolerate her existence, gnashing his teeth in silence.

And Hadrian knew why. Even those she destroyed would not rise against her. They adored the way she ruled them, as if venom and honey dripped from the same tongue. Some said she was backed by a patron with coffers so deep and connections so dark they reached the bones of the empire.

Lazira and that Divina in her tower—two forces that even the emperor’s grasp could not dislodge. Lazira held the noblemen by their crotches, and the Divina cradled the noble ladies’ hearts.

So in the end, they left them both untouched. Let the witch and the oracle keep their dominion over ditches and slums, they decided, like a fox slinking away from the vine, pretending the grapes were too sour to want.

"That’s me!" Lazira said with a silken giggle, tipping her head. "I’m honored you know me, Hadrian."

From the shadows, as if conjured by her will, a figure in black emerged and silently placed a chair before him. Lazira sat with languid grace, crossing one leg over the other, the gesture casual yet unmistakably sovereign.

Hadrian’s stomach turned. He had heard stories—oh, he had heard plenty—but never once had he heard that she owned dungeons. Yet here he was, shackled to stone while she sat above him like a queen on her throne.

It was a display. A performance. A power move. And Hadrian knew it. He also knew what he had to do.

"Oh, don’t be modest, Lazira," he said smoothly, slipping into the flattering tone that had carried him through countless courts. "Everyone knows you. Your reputation precedes you and—"

"Oh, cut it, Hadrian." Lazira’s voice snapped like a whip. "I know what you peak-dwelling vultures whisper about me. You can’t wait to feast on my corpse."

Hadrian’s smile did not falter, though his throat tightened. "Oh, we aren’t that different from you," he offered. In truth, he doubted she was of noble blood. She knew their world too intimately to be an outsider, yet she carried the voice of one who despised them. A lowborn woman, perhaps—one who had clawed her way up by making nobles suffer under her heel.

Lazira scoffed. "WE?" The word curled from her tongue like venom. "By speaking it, you admit the difference. You lump yourself with them. And you place me apart."

Hadrian swallowed hard. For a moment, he had thought himself the one dissecting her. But no, she was already cutting him open with scalpel-precision, every word peeling him back.

"But you’re right," she continued, her lips curving with mock sweetness. "I’m not so different. Only... I wasn’t born with a mansion to inherit. I had to settle here." Her leg swayed lazily as she reclined. "Hope your accommodations are pleasing."

Her tone was light, almost sincere, but Hadrian knew humiliation when it was dressed as courtesy. "It’s the smell," he quipped, forcing a chuckle, gambling on lightheartedness to win her favor. Rage wouldn’t serve him here. Survival depended on wit.

"I’ll arrange more flowers for you," Lazira replied with a laugh that dripped honey over steel.

Hadrian’s jaw ached from the smile he forced. "That’s kind of you," he murmured. "But may I plead, why am I here? I never crossed your path. Never sought to bring you down. You ruled your little empire. I stayed to my own."

Lazira’s laughter broke out again, rich and sultry, echoing against the dripping stones. Each note coiled tighter around him. "Never?" she purred. Her voice lowered, edged with menace. "Some weeks ago, you sent the emperor’s own guard to test me. The emperor is smarter. He ignored it altogether, didn’t he? How did your little plan work, huh, Hadrian?"

"I didn’t~"

Her smile sharpened into something predatory. "Oh, Hadrian... don’t even try. Did you truly think I was born yesterday?"

Hadrian’s heart jolted in his chest. She was too smart. Too sharp. Every rumor he had ever collected about her seemed to breathe and live before him now.

And he realized, with a chill, that he might not be the hunter in this dungeon at all.

"How did I offend you?" Hadrian asked, his voice low, cautious. "And how may I atone?" He decided to come to the point. Nothing, neither charm, nor flattery, nor jest, worked against this woman.

Lazira tilted her head, a slow feline motion, and leaned forward. Her lips curved in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "And what more do you want to know, Hadrian? If you like, I can offer you... company." Her voice slipped like silk, wrapping around him, suffocatingly sweet. "We could talk about this and that. About whoever you wish to whisper about. Secrets. Scandals. Betrayals. I have plenty of all three."

Hadrian pressed his lips together, fighting the dryness in his throat. He swallowed hard. Tempting... damnably tempting. If he stayed shackled here, if he listened, if he let her feed him crumbs, maybe he could find the way back. Back to the Emperor’s right hand, back to the pinnacle, back to power.

And then, like a knife twisting, came the thought of his fall. The sudden turn of the court against him. All of it, born from whispers, faceless rumors...

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

"You—" His voice cracked, then steadied with rising fury. "You have it against me. Did you think your little games would keep me down forever?"

The dungeon seemed to hush. Lazira’s laugh unfurled, low at first, then swelling into a rich, mocking melody that reverberated against the dripping stones.

"Took you this long to realize?" she purred, her laugh darkening into something venomous. She leaned closer, her red flower catching the torchlight like a drop of fresh blood. "Oh, Hadrian. You aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are."

Hadrian pulled on the shackles, like a caged beast.

Lazira looked at him. "Shall I tell you what I have against you?"