Page 108 of Crowned In Venom

The prison is quieter now. The worst of the rebels are dead. The rest kneel in chains, their wrists raw from bindings, their gazes hollow. The stench of suffering lingers, clinging to my skin as if it seeks to seep beneath it.

I should feel satisfaction.

But I don’t.

I drive my sword into the last prisoner’s throat. The body stiffens, jerks once, then goes still. Another corpse among many.

I exhale sharply, my muscles aching, my ribs burning where my wound remains unattended, bleeding sluggishly beneath my armor.

The dark elf Anya freed had cut deep. Too deep.

The Matriarch should not have been able to kill him so easily.

And yet she had.

With one touch.

With one flick of her fingers.

My hands tighten into fists as I wipe my blade clean, but the prisoner’s last words won’t leave me.

"You don’t even realize it yet, do you?"

"Tell him who he really is."

The words gnaw at my skull, an itch I cannot scratch, an irritation that refuses to fade. I should not care. I should not dwell on a dead man’s riddles.

And yet?—

I cannot stop thinking about them.

I cannot stop thinking about her.

I shove the thought away and turn toward the corridor. I am finished here.

The worst of the traitors are dead. The rest will be dealt with in time.

I need rest.

I need time to think.

But the moment I step into the main hall, a voice cuts through the silence like an arrow to the spine.

"My son."

I freeze.

The air grows thick, weighted.

Slowly, I turn.

The Matriarch stands in the archway, her presence a cold hand against my throat. She looks unbothered, as if she were not drenched in another man’s blood mere moments ago.

Her silver eyes gleam beneath the dim light.

"Come."

It is not a request.

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