Page 34 of Crowned In Venom

34

ANYA

T he walls feel smaller now.

I press my back against the heavy wooden door, ears straining for any sound beyond it. The muffled chaos from earlier has faded into eerie quiet. The riots, the screams, the clash of steel on steel—it should have been enough.

It should have broken them.

But when I risk a glance outside, the palace still stands.

The damage is there—scorch marks along the stone, bodies strewn in the corridors like discarded dolls, the stench of blood thick in the air. But the guards prevailed. The prison is contained. The rebellion I unleashed has already been reduced to smoldering embers.

My fingers tighten against the doorframe.

I was stupid.

I should have waited. Planned. Ensured that my first move would crush them, not just shake them.

Instead, I let myself act in desperation.

Because of him.

Because I was starting to hesitate.

Because I let Varkos make me forget, for a moment, who he is.

What he is.

I inhale sharply, my pulse pounding in my ears. There’s still time. I can still?—

A sharp bang cracks against the door.

I whirl around just as it bursts open.

Dark-elven guards flood into the room, their faces grim, their weapons drawn. Too many.

I react instinctively. My body moves before my mind can catch up—a desperate lunge for the dagger beneath my pillow.

Too slow.

Hands clamp around my arms, wrenching them behind my back. My shoulder screams in protest, but I do not yield.

I thrash, twisting, aiming a kick toward the nearest guard’s knee—a snap of movement, a flash of pain as I strike.

A snarl of frustration. One of them slams me into the stone floor.

The breath rushes from my lungs in a brutal gasp. My vision blurs.

Cold iron bites against my wrists as they bind me.

Tight. Too tight.

A gloved hand grips my jaw, forcing my head back.

"You are summoned, human," one of them sneers. "Try not to disgrace yourself further."

Then they drag me.

The corridor spins around me as my body fights the binds, my heart pounding a frenzied rhythm against my ribs.

I cannot escape.

But I cannot stop struggling.

I twist, earning myself a sharp blow to the ribs—a warning.

Pain bursts white behind my eyelids, but I do not make a sound.

I will not give them the satisfaction.

They pull me through the palace, past darkened halls lined with silver-lit torches. Past the corpses of the rebels I freed.

They are all dead.

Blood pools beneath them, glistening in the dim light. Their empty eyes stare at nothing.

I have failed.

A final turn. A pair of ornate black doors.

They swing open.

I am shoved inside.

And the first thing I see?—

Varkos.

His wide, startled gaze meets mine.

He sits at an opulent dining table, a glass of dark wine in one hand, a silver knife in the other. A half-eaten meal before him.

And across from him?—

The Matriarch.

She dabs at her lips with a silk napkin, her expression calm. Almost amused.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Varkos rises from his seat. His face is carefully unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burn.

He was not expecting this.

Neither was I.

The Matriarch sets down her goblet, exhaling in a slow, deliberate sigh.

"Well," she murmurs, silver eyes gleaming.

"It seems we have found the one who set the prisoners free."

The room tilts.

My breath catches.

Varkos goes still.

And I know—this is the moment everything unravels.