Page 5 of Crowned In Venom

A cage is still a cage, even when it is lined with luxury.

He stands across the room, watching me with that sharp, dissecting gaze, his long fingers curled around the stem of a silver goblet. As if he is already imagining how I will break.

He does not realize that I do not break.

I am the splinter beneath the skin, the thorn disguised as a petal.

I let my gaze flicker past him to the balcony doors—barred shut, heavy iron locks ensuring there is no easy escape. No windows large enough to slip through. The main doors are guarded, but the hidden servant passage near the wardrobe? That is interesting.

I do not move toward it. Not yet.

I pretend to be oblivious, trailing my fingers over the carved desk, running my hand along the intricate folds of a tapestry depicting dark elven conquests, human bodies writhing beneath their boots.

Varkos does not stop me.

But he watches.

Always watching.

“You have sharp eyes,” he muses.

I do not turn to him. “It would be foolish to be blind in a place like this.”

His chuckle is low, smooth as black silk. Mocking. “And yet many before you have chosen ignorance.”

Many before me were not hunters.

I turn now, tilting my head. “Did they survive?”

His smile is lazy, a cruel curve of amusement. “No.”

A chill wraps around my spine, but I do not let it show.

Instead, I step forward, bridging the space between us, my bare feet silent against the floor. His amethyst gaze tracks my movements, the way a wolf studies the rabbit—not with immediate hunger, but with the satisfaction of knowing it has already won.

He thinks he has won.

I let my gaze drop to the goblet in his hand. “I assume you do not intend to poison me,” I say lightly.

Varkos raises a dark brow, then lifts the goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip. His throat moves, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, a strangely human gesture for someone who is anything but.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lowering the cup.

I lift my chin, unbothered by his threat. I step even closer. Too close.

It is a gamble.

A dangerous one.

But if I want to survive, I need to know what kind of monster I am dealing with.

His scent coils around me—smoke and steel, something darker beneath. His robes brush against my bare arm, cool fabric against heated skin.

I do not flinch.

Instead, I reach out.

Not to touch him. No, that would be reckless.

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