Page 29 of Crowned In Venom
29
ANYA
V arkos is not the kind of dark elf who makes mistakes.
Every movement, every glance, every cruel smirk—calculated. Controlled.
But tonight?
He makes a mistake.
It happens fast, so fast that I almost miss it.
Almost.
One moment, he’s circling me like a predator, all dark heat and sharpened edges.
The next, he lets something slip.
"You think I don’t know what she’s capable of?" His voice is a quiet snarl, his hand braced against the stone wall beside me. Too close. Too furious. "I’ve been trying to stop her for years."
The words hit like a knife between my ribs.
Trying to stop her.
I blink, my breath faltering, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he’s too wrapped up in his own storm to care.
His fingers flex at his sides, as if he wants to reach for me, as if he hates that he wants to.
"I don’t need you to remind me who she is," he mutters. "I’ve known for a long time."
A long time.
I swallow, tilting my chin up, forcing my voice to stay steady.
"Then why is she still alive?"
His jaw tightens.
He doesn’t answer.
And that silence?
That silence is an answer all on its own.
Something cold slithers down my spine.
I need to think.
I need to get out of this room.
But first—I need to watch.
I memorize the way he moves.
The way he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, turning his back to me as if to regain control.
The way he reaches for a goblet on the table beside him, fingers tightening around the stem before he hesitates.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
He doesn’t drink.
Instead, he lifts the goblet, tilting it slightly before setting it back down.
Something glints beside it.
A small vial. Dark glass. The kind used to store potent liquids, things not meant for open air.
I feel my pulse quicken.
He doesn’t notice my attention—not yet.
But I see the shift in his posture, the way he rolls his shoulders, schooling his features back into something unreadable.
Whatever he almost said, whatever he almost did—he regrets it.
And that means…
It was important.
I step forward, slow, deliberate.
"You told me to be careful," I murmur. "But it seems you’re the one who’s unraveling."
His eyes snap to mine.
Sharp. Piercing.
A flicker of something I can’t quite name—doubt? A warning? Or something deeper?
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," he says flatly.
But I do.
I almost do.
I just need one more piece.
So I give him my best mocking smile, the one that always drives him mad.
I reach out—not for him.
For the goblet.
He reacts too fast.
Before I can touch it, his hand snaps around my wrist.
"Don’t."
The command is soft. Too soft.
A warning.
A threat.
And yet…
Why does he care if I touch his drink?
I tilt my head, my pulse hammering in my throat. "Poison?"
His grip tightens.
For a moment, I swear I see something like panic flash through his gaze—but Varkos does not panic.
Then it’s gone, replaced by something colder, more lethal.
"If you want to live," he murmurs, "you’ll stop asking questions."
He doesn’t deny it.
I should feel fear.
But all I feel is curiosity.
I let him hold my wrist a second longer than necessary, watching him, measuring the weight of his words.
Then, slowly, I pull free.
"Goodnight, my lord."
I leave without another word.
But the second I step into the hall, my mind is already racing.
I retreat to my chambers.
The doors shut behind me, locking out the meaning ofhis gaze, but not the truth curling inside me.
Varkos has been poisoning his mother.
For years.
He’s been trying to kill her.
And she is still alive.
Stronger than before.
I exhale shakily, pressing a hand to my lips.
This changes everything.
Varkos is not his mother’s pawn.
He is her executioner.
Or at least, he was trying to be.
And if I know this, then I have a choice to make.
I can use it against him.
Or…
I can use it to unravel everything.
Either way, one thing is clear.
Varkos is not the monster I thought he was.
Or does this make him worse? I’m confused. He’s an enigma.
And that?
That makes him even more dangerous.