Page 24 of Crowned In Venom

24

ANYA

V arkos watches me too closely now after that auction.

He doesn’t speak of it outright, doesn’t confront me, but his eyes linger, waiting, peeling back the layers I have so carefully wrapped around myself.

It is not the look of a master indulging in a prize.

It is the look of a hunter tracking prey.

He sees too much.

I have been too bold.

Or not bold enough.

So I do what I must—I weave a snare of half-truths and careful misdirection, giving him just enough to keep him tangled.

But tonight, as we sit in his chambers, the game shifts.

And I realize, too late—I have already lost this round.

The fire burns low in the hearth, the flickering glow casting strange shadows across the dark stone walls. Outside, the city thrums with distant revelry, a cruel contrast to the silence that stretches between us.

I sit before him, poised, composed, a glass of spiced wine cradled between my fingers.

He sits across from me, his chair carved from obsidian, his long legs sprawled in careless ease. But there is nothing careless about him.

Not tonight.

His amethyst eyes catch the firelight, gleaming with something unreadable. Something sharp.

A predator studying his next move.

"You have been restless," he says, voice smooth as silk, laced with something too soft to be safe.

I sip my wine. "Should I not be?"

A slow smirk curves his lips, but it does not reach his eyes.

"I wonder," he murmurs.

The air between us thickens.

He does not look away.

Neither do I.

Every word, every glance is measured.

This is the dance we do.

Push. Pull. Test. Retreat.

But tonight, there is no retreat.

"You’ve been careful," Varkos muses, tilting his goblet in his hand. "Very careful. But no one is perfect."

The words scrape against my ribs.

I do not let it show.

"Perfect?" I echo, setting my glass down with deliberate slowness. "That would be a high expectation, even for you."

He hums, leaning forward just slightly.

"Even for me," he repeats, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. "And yet, here you are, always so… precise. So obedient. So clever."

He says the word like an accusation.

I hold my ground, my lips curving just slightly.

"Would you prefer stupidity?"

He chuckles.

Low. Dark.

"No," he murmurs. "I prefer honesty."

Something in my pulse skips.

Dangerous ground.

He shifts, rising slowly from his seat.

Each movement deliberate, measured.

My body tenses, though I force myself to remain still.

He takes his time crossing the space between us.

Until he stands over me, looking down, his presence curling around me like smoke and shadow.

My breath is steady.

My pulse is not.

"You stole the ledger."

The words land like an arrow to my chest.

A slow, deep cut.

A thousand thoughts flash through my mind, but my expression does not falter.

I tilt my head, my lips parting slightly. Feigned confusion.

"My lord?"

His hand snaps out.

Not cruel.

But firm.

A grip beneath my chin. Tilting my face up.

Forcing me to meet his gaze.

Too close.

Too knowing.

I see it in his eyes—certainty.

He isn’t asking.

He knows.

A slow, creeping fear slithers into my ribs.

Not because I am caught.

But because of the question it leaves behind.

How?

I should lie.

I should protest, spin another thread of deceit.

But it will do no good.

Because he is too sure.

I exhale softly, the illusion of confusion slipping away like melting wax.

I do not deny it.

Instead, I ask the only question that matters.

"How did you know?"

His thumb drags lightly across my jaw.

Not gentle.

Not cruel.

Just there.

His expression does not change.

But I see the answer before he speaks it.

"The Ghost," he murmurs. “We recently made an acquaintance.”

A chill ripples down my spine.

My fingers curl into the fabric of my dress.

The Ghost.

The shadow in the walls. The Matriarch’s silent enforcer.

The one who sees everything.

The one who should have told her.

Not him.

Why didn’t she know?

Varkos watches me closely, as if waiting for the moment I break.

I do not break.

But my silence is enough.

"You’re afraid," he says softly. “Also, the ledger is useless in your hands.”

It is not a taunt.

Not a challenge.

It is a realization.

And that is more dangerous than anything else.

I school my features, smoothing the edges of my composure.

"I do not fear you," I say. Inside, I grit my teeth. The ledger with names… I can’t even pinpoint what it entails!

Varkos’s lips curve—not a smile, not quite.

His hand slides away from my chin.

"No," he muses. "You don’t."

He steps back, exhaling as if in thought.

A heartbeat passes.

Then another.

Finally, he lifts his gaze back to mine.

"You will explain," he says, voice low, edged in quiet authority. "All of it."

It is not a request.

Not a demand.

It is something else.

Something unspoken.

A test.

A warning.

A choice.

And yet—I know the truth.

This is not a choice at all.

Not for me.