Page 2 of Crowned In Venom

“I use it when it serves me,” I say, careful, slow.

He chuckles again—a sound that slithers beneath my skin, both warning and invitation.

Then, suddenly, he is in front of me again, his fingers lifting my chin. This time, his touch is not light. It is demanding.

“Then tell me this, human.” The title drips from his lips like something sharp. “Do you know what you are now?”

I should say a slave. A possession. A prize.

But I don’t.

I hold his gaze, emerald clashing against amethyst. “A player.”

Varkos goes very still.

For a breath, just a breath, something flickers in his expression. Surprise. Hunger. Wariness.

Then he smirks. It is slow, deliberate. And it is the most dangerous thing I have seen tonight.

“Very well, little fox,” he murmurs, voice a sinful promise. “Let us play.”

He steps back, and the guards move forward. My chains are unlocked, but I do not rub my wrists, do not show weakness.

The head guard kneels. “What are your orders, my lord?”

Varkos does not answer immediately. Instead, he watches me. A predator who knows his prey is dangerous but relishes the hunt.

Then, with a flick of his hand—bored, cruel, final—he says:

“Take her to my chambers.”

The game has begun.

2

VARKOS

The human is stunning—too stunning. I should not have let my eyes linger on her this long, yet here I am, watching her disappear down the hall, her steps too controlled for a slave who has just been shackled and stripped of her freedom.

Anya.

A name that should be meaningless. Yet when I had said it in my mind, it settled on my tongue like a forbidden taste.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders back, forcing my body to relax. A mistake. I cannot afford to be distracted by something so… delicate.

Except, she is not delicate.

She is defiant in a way that is not overt, but deeply woven into the way she carries herself. That slow, calculated tilt of her chin. The measured way she speaks—never groveling, never truly submitting.

A snake that slithers close, feigning stillness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

I smirk to myself.

Perhaps it has been too long since I have had a game worth playing.

Still, I do not trust her.

And I do not like that I cannot bring myself to look away.

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