Page 117 of Crowned In Venom

ANYA

Varkos stands between us, his blade raised, his breath shallow but steady.

He is injured. Bleeding. Weak.

But he is still fighting.

For me.

And I do not understand why.

His voice is low, strained, a thread pulled too tight.

"Let her go."

The Matriarch only smiles. Unbothered. Unmoved.

"Let her go?" she echoes, tilting her head as if the very idea is absurd. "And why, my son, would I do that?"

Varkos does not hesitate.

His next words shake the room.

"Because I have something you need."

Silence.

The Matriarch's expression does not falter, but I see the flicker in her gaze.

A pause.

A calculation.

A hint of something dangerous.

"And what would that be?" she asks, mocking, but curious.

Varkos lifts his free hand.

In his palm, a small vial glows under the dim torchlight.

The liquid inside is dark. Thick.

Poison.

Or its cure.

"The antidote," he says, voice raw. "For what I have done to you."

The air grows thin.

My breath catches.

I barely hear anything past the rush of my own heartbeat.

He—

He poisoned her.

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