Page 33 of Crowned In Venom

I have what I need.

Later that night, I slip into Varkos’s chambers again.

He is seated in a high-backed chair near the fire, his robes loose, his posture rigid.

His expression is unreadable.

But something is different.

I can feel it in the air, thick and suffocating.

Whatever the Matriarch said to him still lingers, heavy and suffocating.

I move carefully, deliberately, as if I do not notice the tension curling through his body.

"You were summoned," I murmur, settling onto the cushioned bench across from him.

His eyes flick to me—sharp, assessing.

"You’ve been listening."

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "You do not hide it well."

His smirk is slow, knowing.

But it does not reach his eyes.

"What else have you heard, little fox?" he asks, voice smooth, but there is something dangerous beneath it.

I watch him for a moment. Careful. Measuring.

Then, I shift the conversation.

"A fighter spoke out against you today," I say casually, tracing my fingers along the edge of the table.

Varkos stills.

"And?"

I keep my voice light. "He said you do not let your champions leave."

For a moment, he does not react.

Then—a slow, dark chuckle.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on mine.

"And tell me, Anya," he murmurs, "does that surprise you?"

No.

It does not.

But I let a flicker of uncertainty pass over my face. Just enough for him to think he has unsettled me.

To let him believe I am still naïve.

"You keep them trapped?" I ask, voice quieter now. "Even when they have won?"

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