Page 22 of Craving His Venom

She nods. “Sahrine said the balcony needed sweeping. I thought I’d see how bad it is.”

My gaze drops to the broom in her grasp. “Then by all means, carry on.”

I shift to the side, letting her pass. She crosses the balcony, gaze skimming the view of the jungle. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs under her breath, so quiet I almost miss it.

“Yes,” I agree softly. The expanse of Kaynvu’s forest is a sight that once filled me with pride. Now it feels tinted with the isolation of exile.

She steps toward the railing, leaning out to catch the breeze. A few leaves flutter across the stone tiles. She raises the broom, begins sweeping in practiced strokes. Her posture is relaxed, though I sense a hint of self-consciousness at my presence.

An inexplicable urge compels me forward. I stand near the edge, leaving just enough space so she doesn’t feel cornered. My arms fold behind my back. The hush is surprisingly tranquil, aside from the faint rustling of leaves. Neither of us speaks for a while—she sweeps, I watch the distant treetops sway.

When she pauses, I say in a measured tone, “I rarely see humans admire the jungle. They usually fear it.”

She sets the broom against the rail, gaze lingering on the forest. “I was afraid when I tried to escape,” she admits. “But it’s also... vast, full of possibility. If I wasn’t so certain it would kill me, I’d probably find it inspiring.” A dry laugh escapes her, tinged with resignation.

My chest tightens. “At least you acknowledge it’s dangerous,” I say, not unkindly.

She glances at me, expression uncertain. “I’m aware. I also see something majestic in it.”

A strange feeling wells in me—admiration for her willingness to see past the immediate threat. “Then maybe you understand how I feel about this domain.”

She tilts her head slightly, curiosity igniting in her eyes. “Is that why you built your estate here, so far from the capital?”

A pang of memory hits: betrayal from the council, the betrothed who tried to end my life for sparing a human servant. I close my eyes momentarily, swallowing bitterness. “It suited me at the time,” I say curtly, refusing to elaborate.

She opens her mouth as though to press further, then thinks better of it. “All right,” she murmurs, turning her attention back to the sweeping.

The silence that settles between us crackles with tension, though not entirely unpleasant. I notice the subtle lines of her face, the determined set of her jaw, how she handles the broom with methodical care. My gaze drifts to the jade comb glinting in her hair, and warmth ripples through me.

Without warning, a small gust of wind gusts across the balcony, sending stray leaves dancing around us. She laughs, startled, batting at a leaf that lands on her shoulder. My tail shifts reflexively, coiling a fraction in response to that sudden sound of genuine amusement. She quickly calms, as if remembering where she is, and straightens.

“I’ll finish quickly,” she says apologetically, returning to sweeping. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips. “It’s no bother.”

She sweeps the leaves into a neat pile, then leans the broom against the wall. Her gaze slips back to the jungle, flicking from tree to tree as though memorizing the horizon. “Thank you,” she finally says, voice hushed, “for letting me see more of the manor. It’s... better than feeling caged.”

I nod, silently acknowledging her gratitude. Perhaps allowing her this freedom is a small step toward easing the tension that’s plagued us since the night of her escape.

My tail flicks gently. “You’ve shown no sign of repeating your attempt. I trust you’re wise enough to realize how dangerous it would be.”

She turns, crossing her arms as if bracing herself. “I’m aware,” she answers. “I have no wish to court more harm.”

Satisfaction hums in my chest, though I keep my face impassive. “Good.”

A subtle shift in the air occurs, as though we stand on the edge of a conversation neither of us knows how to begin. I sense her curiosity, the way her expression flickers with hesitant questions. My own mind burns with half-formed inquiries: about her past, her thoughts, her dreams. Yet I squash those impulses. We aren’t equals sharing confidences.

She breaks the silence first, voice quiet. “Do you regret defending me against Rahlazen?”

I inhale sharply, memories of venom and anger resurging. “I regret nothing,” I say, tone firm. “He insulted what is mine.”

She flinches slightly at the word “mine,” and her lips tighten, but she holds my gaze. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I... never expected anyone to intervene like that.”

The weight of her statement sinks in. I consider telling her that she shouldn’t thank me for violence. But my words catch in my throat. Instead, I turn, letting the wind ruffle my hair. “Return to your chores,” I say quietly. “I won’t keep you further.”

She seems ready to speak, but the moment passes. She simply inclines her head and walks inside, broom in hand. The swirl of her scent—soap and a faint trace of lavender—lingers. My tail curls once more, and I press a palm against the stone balustrade to steady myself. A storm of emotions brews, both fierce and confusing.

I remain on the balcony, gaze drifting over the jungle. The sense that something in my domain is shifting hangs in the warm air. No matter how much I try to frame it as simple curiosity, I cannot deny how her presence moves me, or how giving her that jade-and-gold comb felt like a tether tying her tome. The distance I once found comforting now chafes whenever I see her tense or uncertain.

---