Page 181 of Crowned In Venom

The floor above him creaks. A presence beyond the door.

She’s too close.

The Ghost doesn’t breathe.

There is no time. He seals the last vial, tucks the real ones into his robes, and turns toward the exit.

The moment he steps out, a figure looms in the hall.

A noblewoman. A high-ranking dark elf loyal to the Matriarch.

She freezes, staring at him. Her eyes flick to the guards’ lifeless bodies.

The Ghost tilts his head.

She knows.

"Guards!" she shrieks.

The Ghost moves.

A blade flashes. Blood sprays. The noblewoman falls.

But her voice has already echoed through the palace.

The Ghost runs.

Footsteps thunder behind him. Voices rise. He is already calculating—which corridors lead to the tunnels? Which exits are still safe?

A sharp turn. A side passage. The throne room is ahead.

Then, a voice slithers through the walls.

"What is the rush, my dear?"

The Matriarch’s voice is everywhere.

Cold. Sweet. Poison wrapped in silk.

A wave of magic presses down on him.

The Ghost grits his teeth, forcing himself forward. His body feels heavy, his limbs weighed down. He reaches for his own magic, shoving against her control. If he stops, he dies.

"What a naughty little thing you are," the Matriarch purrs. "You have been keeping secrets from me."

The Ghost lunges forward just as the magic lashes out.

He barely makes it into the tunnels.

The air shifts violently behind him. A pulse of power shatters the stones where he just stood.

He stumbles forward, breathing hard.

The Matriarch knows.

Far away, Anya gasps.

Pain lances through her skull—not hers, but the Matriarch’s.

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