Page 18 of Crowned In Venom

I step inside.

The fire still burns low.

She is still asleep—or pretending to be.

I close the door behind me, locking it.

Whatever this is—whoever this is— they will not take me by surprise again.

And they will not take her.

Not before I find out what lies beneath her surface.

7

ANYA

Ihave never been one to beg for favors.

Survival is not found in groveling, in cowering. It is found in the spaces between words, in the pauses between glances. In learning how to bend without breaking.

And in this place, the true power does not lie with Varkos.

It lies in the hands of those who watch, whisper, and serve.

The servants.

They are the unseen force that moves through these walls, slipping into places no noble, no warrior, no master would ever think to look.

And so, I weave my web.

It begins with the smallest things.

A shared glance. A soft word. An offering of silence when they expect screams.

They watch me—at first with pity, then curiosity, then something else entirely.

Respect.

The kitchen girls notice how I move, how I do not cry when the guards leer, how I walk with my back straight even when my captivity should bend me to the ground.

The older servants, the ones who have spent years navigating the dangers of this household, study me with careful eyes. They are waiting to see what I will become.

A whore? A fool? A corpse?

I give them none of the above.

Instead, I listen.

Servants see everything.

They move through the palace unnoticed, tending to the small needs of the powerful, absorbing knowledge like sponges in a pool of filth.

They know which nobleman drinks himself into a stupor each night.

They know which guard hates his master but stays for the gold.

They know which doors stay unlocked after midnight.

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