Page 18 of Warlord’s Empire

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

The security measures, however, reflected everything she knew about him. Saskia’s sharp eyes picked them up where they were hidden in the beautiful house. The shutters were lined with steel and would likely slam shut during an attack, sealing the occupants in at the press of a button. She could see hints of steel glinting in the sunlight from beneath the fronds on the roof.

The bright house took on a sinister feeling as Saskia was reminded of the Koba estate, her childhood home and her prison for most of her life. Radik urged her forward, his hand at her back and as she climbed the steps, crossing the threshold into his home. A shiver went down her spine.

Chapter Eight

“Let me introduce you,” Radik said before hitting Saskia with a dozen names. “Zara, Hasan, Blessing, Peter, Kate…”

She was never going to remember them all, but it wasn’t the names that interested her anyway. It was the dynamic between Radik and his people. They smiled at him, shook his hand, slapped his back, some even hugged him. There was no organization as employees of the household turned up in the foyer to greet their master and his new friend before disappearing again. It was all so casual. The opposite of what she’d expect in a military-esque compound.

This would never happen in the Koba household, not under Jozef, and definitely not under Krystoff, her late father. Stiff formality was the go-to for all staff. Even Havel, Jozef’s best friend and right-hand man, acted deferentially around his boss.

“Muhammed, it is good to see you home safe.” A woman who looked to be in her 50s or 60s stepped forward, her eyes crinkling as she grinned. She wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly.

“Nonna,” Radik said warmly, hugging her back.

When she released him, another woman replaced Nonna, offering him a cheeky grin. She was maybe around Saskia’s age. “You look like you’ve eaten too much rich food on your trip.” She pointed at Radik’s stomach. “You’ve gained weight.”

Saskia raised a brow, a shaft of jealousy rippling through her. Who was this woman that she felt so comfortable speaking to Radik in such a familiar way?

“Nikka! You incorrigible child,” Nonna scolded, swatting the girl’s hip, though she seemed to do it with affection.

“What?” Nikka asked innocently. “Should I not tell him he’s gotten fatter in the middle?”

“You know it’s not true,” Nonna scolded. “You must always poke at the man.”

Radik chuckled, wrapping an arm around Nikka’s shoulders and turning her toward Saskia. “Saskia, this is Nikka. She’s Nonna’s granddaughter. Both live here with me.” He wasn’t doing anything to ease Saskia’s jealousy. “Nonna is my chef and Nikka helps keep the place tidy.”

“We’ll be heading back to the kitchen now to prepare your homecoming meal.” Nonna gave Nikka a light push and both disappeared through a hallway.

Looking around, Saskia realized the entrance to the house was now deserted except for her and Radik. She felt a chill settle over her. She rubbed her arms, but it wasn’t an external chill. It came from feeling out of her element, a foreigner in a well-established community.

Radik’s gaze penetrated her insecurity. “It will feel like home soon. The people here are good people; you’ll feel like one of them in no time.”

“Who are they? Where do they come from?” Were they mercenaries like Radik? Shola looked like she could be a merc, but not Nonna or Nikka. And while she’d seen people wearing militaristic gear as they drove in, she’d also seen people who looked totally normal.

“A few are here for sanctuary, having fled from bad situations, but most are hired soldiers who brought their families to live here. Marifiya is well hidden so they’re safe.”

Saskia frowned, her eyes wandering out the window to what looked like a group of children playing, but as she watched, she realized they weren’t just playing, they were practicing. She recognized some of the defensive moves she was taught by Havel and Jozef when she was a child.

Voice flat, she turned away. “You teach the children warfare.” She was disappointed. “You’re training child soldiers to fight for you.”

Radik shook his head, his dark eyes reflecting his own disappointment at her accusation. “Not for me, for themselves.”

“What’s the difference?”

“We live in an area that has seen over a century of conflict. It’s important for our people to be able to defend themselves and their homes. Age doesn’t matter when your home is under attack.” He took her shoulders in a light hold and turned her to face the window again. “Watch and you’ll see how much they enjoy learning new techniques.”

Much as she tried, it was difficult to watch, calling up in her head images of herself as a child forced to train for hours. Her heart was never in it, as she would much rather have had her nose in a book, and her frustrated tutors knew it. Jozef would go extra hard on her when she lost attention and her father, Krystoff, would lecture her endlessly about the importance of being able to defend herself.

She wouldn’t have had to defend herself if she wasn’t a Koba. And these children shouldn’t have to learn to defend themselves either.

“I’ve seen enough.” She turned from the window, slipping away from Radik. “I’m tired. Can you please show me to my room?”

Radik didn’t touch her, but she felt his immediate concern. “Are you unwell?” It was more of a demand than a question and despite her downshift in mood, her lips curled in a half smile at his worry.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s been a long day.” She realized just how long it had been, adding, “And night for that matter. I need to get some rest.” She needed to think and she couldn’t do it around Radik.