Page 110 of Crowned In Venom

As if she did not tear a dark elf apart with her bare hands hours ago.

I do not touch my food.

My stomach coils, my ribs throb, and beneath it all, something festers.

I should not still be thinking of the prisoner’s words.

I should not still be questioning.

But I am.

I feel her watching me.

Waiting.

"Eat, my son."

Her voice is silk and steel, soft and sharp all at once.

I pick up my fork.

And I do not move.

The air stagnates between us.

My grip tightens.

My ribs ache.

The weight of something unseen, something unknown, presses down on my spine.

I do not know what is coming next.

And for the first time in a long, long time?—

I do not feel in control.

34

ANYA

The walls feel smaller now.

I press my back against the heavy wooden door, ears straining for any sound beyond it. The muffled chaos from earlier has faded into eerie quiet. The riots, the screams, the clash of steel on steel—it should have been enough.

It should have broken them.

But when I risk a glance outside, the palace still stands.

The damage is there—scorch marks along the stone, bodies strewn in the corridors like discarded dolls, the stench of blood thick in the air. But the guards prevailed. The prison is contained. The rebellion I unleashed has already been reduced to smoldering embers.

My fingers tighten against the doorframe.

I was stupid.

I should have waited. Planned. Ensured that my first move would crush them, not just shake them.

Instead, I let myself act in desperation.

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