Page 53 of Crowned In Venom

He doesn’t even look at me as if… we never shared an intimate night together. I ignore the feeling, though.

I stand beside him on the elevated balcony that overlooks the main arena, the jagged stone walls carved into the earth like a grave no one plans to fill.

The space below us is a pit in the truest sense of the word—a gaping wound in the palace’s underbelly, lined with torches that cast long, flickering shadows.

A match is already underway.

Two men circle each other, bare-chested, bodies slick with sweat, with blood.

The crowd surrounding the pit is a writhing thing, pressing in, shouting, clawing for more.

Varkos watches it all with a careful, unreadable gaze.

I do not look at him.

Instead, I force myself to see what he wants me to see.

Because this—this is a message.

A reminder.

Of what he is.

Of what he owns.

And, perhaps, what I can never change.

"You are quiet," Varkos murmurs beside me.

I keep my face impassive. "There is little to say."

He chuckles—low, dark.

"That is unlike you."

I shift my gaze to him then, meeting those sharp amethyst eyes.

"Did you expect me to scream?" I ask.

He tilts his head, studying me. "Would you?"

Below us, one of the fighters lunges, his blade carving into the other man's thigh.

A scream splits the air.

It is swallowed by laughter, by roars of approval, by the clinking of coins exchanging hands.

I do not flinch.

Instead, I turn my body slightly toward him, letting the firelight catch the emerald green of my eyes.

"Is this why you brought me here, my lord?" I murmur. "To see if I would break?"

Varkos does not smile.

"Perhaps."

A single word. Careful. Purposeful.

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