Page 6 of Crowned In Venom

I trail my fingers along the rim of his goblet, brushing his hand in the process. A whisper of contact, a fleeting press of skin to skin.

A test.

His breath catches, just barely.

And then his hand snaps up, capturing my wrist in a vice-like grip.

I still.

Not out of fear.

Out of calculation.

Varkos studies me, his grip firm, but not cruel. Not yet.

“You like to push, don’t you?” His voice is lower now, quieter.

I meet his gaze, unblinking. “You like to be pushed.”

His lips part—a sharp inhale, a flicker of something dangerous.

Then, he releases me.

Not with a shove, not with violence.

With precision.

A choice.

I step back, my pulse thrumming at the base of my throat.

He watches me as if I am a puzzle, one he has not yet decided if he will solve or shatter.

I take the goblet from his hand and bring it to my lips, never breaking eye contact as I drink.

The wine is dark and spiced, fire rolling down my throat.

I lower the cup, tilting my head. “Satisfied?”

Varkos laughs. A real laugh this time, rich and slow, a sound that slides over my skin like silk and thorns.

“Oh, little fox,” he murmurs, that smirk returning. “We’re only just beginning.”

By the time the servants come for me, I have already committed much of the layout to memory.

I follow them silently, my gaze flickering to every corridor, every guarded post, every possible weakness.

The palace is a maze of dark stone and silver veins, corridors twisting in labyrinthine paths meant to confuse intruders.

Or captives.

They take me through the lower halls, past tapestries that depict elven conquest, past rooms where the smell of incense and spilled wine lingers in the air.

Brothels.

Not all slaves in this palace are here for pleasure, but many are.

I do not shudder.

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