Page 28 of Crowned In Venom

10

VARKOS

My mother’s summons comes with no warning.

It never does.

One moment, I stand in the dim quiet of my chambers, the intoxicating scent of Anya’s skin still lingering in the air. The next, a messenger appears, pale-faced, breathless, delivering the inevitable words.

The Matriarch requests your presence.

Requests.

As if I have a choice.

I do not delay. I do not keep her waiting. Not because I am eager to see her, but because delaying invites suspicion, and suspicion invites pain.

I learned that lesson long ago.

The corridor leading to her sanctum is lined with silver lanterns, their flames burning a strange, eerie green. The light is soft, almost beautiful.

But I know the truth of this place.

There is no beauty here.

There never was.

The guards at the entrance do not speak as I pass. They are more statues than men, standing in cold, lifeless silence, their armor polished to a mirror’s gleam.

Inside, the air is too warm, too perfumed.

A room meant to entice, to suffocate.

She waits on her throne—a thing of obsidian and carved bone, its arms curved like the open jaws of some long-forgotten beast.

She is draped in dark silks, her figure reclining with the ease of a dark elf female who has never known fear.

She has only ever inspired it.

The Matriarch.

My mother.

She watches as I enter, her fingers trailing idly over the stem of a crystal goblet. Bloodwine, dark and thick.

Not hers. Never hers. Always someone else’s.

"You are late," she murmurs.

I bow because it is expected, because it is required. "You called for me on short notice."

Her lips curl. "You should always be ready when I call, my son."

Her voice is soft, almost affectionate.

But I know better.

She gestures for me to come closer. I do, though every step feels like walking into a trap.

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