Page 30

Desperate for some measure of solace, I head to the greenhouse, pushing open the door to the humid air and lush greenery.

The space thrums with life—a fountain trickles in the corner, bright blossoms spill from pots, and exotic vines wind around support beams. This place often calms me, a small oasis of color and growth in a world of stone.

I set about watering the plants, trying to ground myself in the simple act of nurturing them. Each droplet that falls into the soil reminds me that life can persist even under dire conditions. The routine soothes my frazzled mind, though I can’t entirely shake the tension in my limbs.

Halfway through watering a row of delicate blossoms, a voice breaks the quiet. “Mira?”

I turn to see Vahziryn standing at the greenhouse’s threshold, tail moving slowly behind him. He looks composed yet coiled with an inner tension. His onyx hair frames the stark angles of his face, and gold flickers in his eyes like embers.

My chest tightens at the sight of him. Images from our shared night flood back, followed by the memory of him distancing himself. But I recall our last conversation, when he decided we wouldn’t hide from each other’s presence anymore. Anxiety wars with relief as I set the watering can aside.

“You’re here,” I murmur, voice softer than I intend.

He nods, stepping into the greenhouse’s humid air. “I’ve been looking for you.”

My heart stutters. “Crick said the council scouts arrived. Are you all right?”

His jaw clenches, tension evident in the way his tail coils near his ankle. “They’re demanding to interview all human workers, claiming they have orders to ensure I haven’t broken any laws. Specifically, they want to see if I’ve given humans more privilege than permitted.”

I swallow. “Which includes me.”

He closes the distance, eyes scanning my face. “Yes. They asked after you by name.” A low hiss slides between his teeth. “Someone must have told them of your presence, or perhaps Rahlazen did. It’s not unexpected, but it’s earlier than I hoped.”

Fear seeps into my veins. “What will happen?”

He exhales slowly. “I’ll try to keep them from questioning you alone. If they do question you, answer truthfully but offer nothing extra. They can’t prove anything scandalous if we remain calm.” His voice carries a controlled edge, though the flick of his tail betrays worry.

I nod, hands trembling. “I understand.”

For a moment, he lifts a clawed hand as though intending to brush my cheek. Then he lowers it, seeming to remember we’re in a place where someone might see us. A pang of loss cuts through me.

Before I can speak, footsteps echo near the greenhouse entrance. We both tense, turning to see a naga scout step inside—tall, scaled a dull green, wearing a sash with the council’s emblem. He regards us with sharp curiosity, slit pupils narrowing at me, then at Vahziryn.

“Warlord,” the scout says in a clipped tone, inclining his head only slightly. “We were told we’d find you here.”

Vahziryn’s voice turns colder. “I’ll speak to you outside.”

The scout’s gaze lingers on me, and a faint sneer curls his lip. “This must be the rumored human pet.”

My pulse thuds, fury mingling with dread. Vahziryn’s tail flicks in a warning arc. “Do not address her like that,” he says, voice dropping with threat. “Her name is Mira.”

The scout’s eyes gleam with a condescending amusement. “My apologies. The council requires we verify her status.” He gestures for me to step forward. “Come.”

Everything in me screams to shrink back, but a sliver of defiance ignites. I recall Crick’s advice: remain calm, but don’t lie. I glance at Vahziryn, who nods stiffly, as if to say it’s okay. Summoning courage, I approach the scout, arms folded in a semblance of composure.

The scout circles me like I’m livestock, gaze raking over my plain tunic and the jade comb glinting in my hair. “You appear more well-kept than some. Are you his personal maid?”

My cheeks flare. “I assist with various tasks,” I reply, voice steady. “Cleaning, greenhouse work, laundry. Whatever is needed.”

He snorts, jotting a note on a small parchment. “And does he grant you special privileges? You appear comfortable in his presence.”

I recall Vahziryn’s warning. “I respect my master,” I say carefully, voice subdued. “He provides a safe environment, and I do my duties without complaint.”

The scout’s gaze narrows. “You have your own chamber?”

“Yes. It’s near the southern corridor. Like any other servant.” Not exactly a lie—I do have a private room. I won’t mention how frequently Vahziryn visited it until recently.

He hums, scribbling another note. “Do you eat with the rest of the staff, or separately?”

My tension builds, but I keep my tone neutral. “I usually take my meals in the kitchens, sometimes with other humans.”

He flicks his forked tongue. “Do you share his bed?”

My heart lurches. I sense Vahziryn tensing behind me, tail half-lifted as though to strike.

I gather every scrap of composure. “I do not share his bed,” I murmur, focusing on the literal question.

Our one time in the library, and that fleeting night we spent in the private chamber, are not the same as living in his bed regularly.

The scout snorts, eyeing me with suspicion, but I keep my gaze lowered. “We’ll see,” he mutters, stepping back. “The council will decide if your presence violates the guidelines for human servants.”

Vahziryn steps forward, placing himself between me and the scout. “Is that all?” His voice drips with warning, each syllable deliberate.

The scout straightens. “For now. But we’ll remain in the estate another day or two, verifying all accounts. The council expects thoroughness.”

Vahziryn’s golden eyes flash. “I trust you’ll keep your men from harassing my staff needlessly.”

A thin smile crosses the scout’s face. “We’ll do only what’s required.” He turns on his heel, robes brushing the greenhouse floor. His footsteps echo as he leaves.

The silence that follows churns with lingering tension. My lungs burn for air, as though I’ve been holding my breath. Vahziryn stares after the scout’s retreating form, scales gleaming under the greenhouse’s filtered sunlight.

At last, he exhales. “Are you all right?”

I nod, though my hands shake. “I answered carefully. But they might remain unconvinced.”

His tail coils in frustration. “They can’t prove anything from a single conversation.” A haunted look flickers in his gaze. “But if they suspect more, they’ll keep digging.”

I struggle to contain the tremor in my voice. “What do we do?”

He sighs, rubbing a clawed hand over his face. “I’ll stall them. Assert that you’re simply a competent servant, nothing more. They’ll want more proof, but if we’re cautious, we might outlast their scrutiny.”

My chest aches with a surge of conflicting emotions—relief that we have a plan, mingled with a hollow sorrow that we must hide the truth of what we share. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? So they don’t see us together?”

He looks away, tension lining his jaw. “Yes,” he admits softly. “If they catch wind of the depth of our bond, they’ll target you. I can’t let that happen.”

I hug myself, hating the reality that we must act like strangers or risk everything. “Then I guess we keep our distance,” I murmur, voice cracking slightly. “For now.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “I despise it,” he confesses, tail gently brushing my ankle in a fleeting gesture of comfort. “But until these scouts leave, we have no choice.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

Despite the strong front I maintain, dread pools in my stomach.

If the council’s intelligence is thorough, they might find cracks in our charade.

The lingering tension in my body from the memory of his touch, the charged silence threading through the estate—any slip could be disastrous.

We stand there, torn by the need to appear distant and the pull of unspoken feeling. Finally, he turns away, tail sliding after him. “I need to meet them again soon,” he says, voice grim. “Act as though nothing has changed. If they approach you again, direct them to me.”

My hand rises instinctively, fingertips brushing my sternum as I steady my breath. “All right.”

He leaves me alone in the greenhouse, tension radiating from his posture.

The door closes softly, and I wilt against a table filled with potted herbs.

My chest feels squeezed, fear pressing like a physical weight.

This is the cost of crossing lines in a society that refuses to bend.

We might stand united, but we must do so from behind a mask of normalcy.

Sometime later, I gather myself enough to resume watering the plants.

Each droplet that sinks into the soil feels like a tiny prayer for time, for the chance to weather this storm.

The hours pass in a fog of dread. I glimpse the council scouts prowling different wings of the manor, quizzing other humans and a few naga staff, likely searching for any contradiction.

Vahziryn remains out of sight, presumably locked in negotiations or giving them the runaround.

My nerves keep me from eating, so I skip lunch, forcing myself to keep busy.

The threat of being seized and labeled “tainted property” looms in every corner.

If they drag me from these walls, would Vahziryn fight for me openly or let them have me to protect his lands? The question stabs at my heart.

Toward dusk, I creep to the corridor outside the main hall.

The double doors stand closed, and muffled voices seep through the thick wood.

One voice belongs to Vahziryn, low and measured, layered with a simmering anger.

The other voices are sharper, the council scouts, I assume, pushing him for answers.

I can’t make out their words fully, but I catch references to “purity,” “human influence,” “lack of proper documentation.”