Page 45 of Crowned In Venom

Because this is an opportunity.

And I do not waste those.

It doesn’t take long.

By the time I reach the upper halls, a guard finds me—his face pale, his stance too rigid, as if afraid to breathe wrong.

"Lord Varkos has summoned you."

A statement. Not a request.

I do not hesitate.

Not because I am afraid.

But because I want to see him.

I want to see what has shaken him.

What has unleashed the storm I feel brewing in the air.

The moment the doors to his chamber open, I understand.

The smell of blood lingers—faint but unmistakable.

The curtains are still ruffled from movement. The air too thick, too heavy.

And him.

Varkos stands in the center of the room, bare-chested, his dark robes hanging loose from his hips. His hands rest on the table before him, the muscles in his forearms tensed, his knuckles streaked with something darker than ink.

The candlelight flickers against his skin, illuminating old scars and new violence.

He does not look at me immediately.

He doesn’t need to.

His presence is a force. A storm contained only by sheer will.

A storm I intend to stoke.

"You’re bleeding," I murmur.

He lifts his gaze—slow, measured, burning.

"It is not my blood."

A dangerous answer.

One meant to intimidate.

But I have spent too long watching him, learning him.

And I know that tonight, he is unstable.

Tonight, he is wounded in ways he does not know how to name.

So I step forward. Slowly. Carefully.

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