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Summary
“A pretty thing like you does not belong on the battlefield.”
His nostrils flared at his crude flattery. “I am afraid Piltover has willed it so.”
“You are a warlock, are you not?”
Viktor did not miss the way the smaller soldiers recoiled at that information. It was no use lying to this man. He had scented him out like a bloodhound. “Yes, lord. Although, my power is limited to the healing arts.”
“Then you will come to my camp and serve Piltover there.”
Piltover is at war with Noxus. When it dragged Zaun into its conflict, families were scattered to the winds and most were conscripted to the front lines. The warlock, Viktor, finds himself a captive in a Noxian camp until his salvation comes in the form of an arrogant Piltovian lord who desires information that would compromise all his fellow warlocks hiding from the Council. In his determination to refuse Lord Talis's demands, he can't help but be endeared to his more tender side, which may be the key to melting the lord's iron will.