Page 180 of Crowned In Venom

"And while she’s weak?" Kareth smirks. "We strike."

I nod.

The plan forms quickly after that.

The best time to strike is withing 48 hours. We need to act fast.

55

ANYA

The air inside the palace is thick with incense and deception. The hallways stretch long and winding, silver veins pulsing faintly in the dark stone walls, as if the entire place is a living thing, a monster breathing beneath the Matriarch’s skin.

The Ghost moves through its corridors, unseen.

He is a shadow in motion, his steps soundless over polished marble. The Matriarch’s presence presses in on him from all sides, though she is far above, nestled in her chambers. Even still, her magic lingers in the air—a force that could snap his bones with a thought.

And she does not yet know.

But she will.

The Ghost does not hesitate as he approaches the blood chamber.

It is a small, locked alcove deep beneath the throne room—guarded, of course. Two dark elves in black armor stand on either side of the arched doorway, spears crossed. Their expressions are blank, their gazes sharp.

The Ghost moves fast.

A flick of his wrist. A whisper of steel.

One guard drops before he can even make a sound. The other opens his mouth to shout—too slow. The Ghost’s blade sinks into his throat, silencing him with a wet, gurgling gasp. The bodies slump against the wall, lifeless.

The Ghost kneels, retrieving the key from the fallen guard’s belt. Blood pools at his feet. He doesn’t acknowledge it.

The door unlocks with a soft click.

He slips inside.

The chamber is cold. Dim lanterns flicker against the walls, casting pale light over rows of glass vials filled with crimson liquid. Human blood.

The Matriarch’s lifeline.

The Ghost pulls out the replacement vials and begins his work, switching them out one by one.

Minutes stretch into eternity.

Then—the air shifts.

A whisper. A presence.

She is near.

A jolt of ice burns through his spine.

The Matriarch is moving.

He moves faster. His hands remain steady, but his pulse thrums like a war drum.

Almost done. Almost?—

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