Page 36 of Crowned In Venom

36

ANYA

V arkos stands between us, his blade raised, his breath shallow but steady.

He is injured. Bleeding. Weak.

But he is still fighting.

For me.

And I do not understand why.

His voice is low, strained, a thread pulled too tight.

"Let her go."

The Matriarch only smiles. Unbothered. Unmoved.

"Let her go?" she echoes, tilting her head as if the very idea is absurd. "And why, my son, would I do that?"

Varkos does not hesitate.

His next words shake the room.

"Because I have something you need."

Silence.

The Matriarch's expression does not falter, but I see the flicker in her gaze.

A pause.

A calculation.

A hint of something dangerous.

"And what would that be?" she asks, mocking, but curious.

Varkos lifts his free hand.

In his palm, a small vial glows under the dim torchlight.

The liquid inside is dark. Thick.

Poison.

Or its cure.

"The antidote," he says, voice raw. "For what I have done to you."

The air grows thin.

My breath catches.

I barely hear anything past the rush of my own heartbeat.

He—

He poisoned her.

For years.

He has been trying to kill her.

And now, he is offering to undo it.

To save her.

For me.

My stomach twists violently.

The Matriarch watches him closely now.

Her amusement has faded into something else.

Something sharper. Colder.

"You?" she murmurs, taking a slow step forward. "You think you have the power to kill me?"

Varkos does not move.

He stands his ground.

"I know I do," he says, his voice shaking with something I do not recognize.

Desperation?

Anguish?

I cannot name it.

The Matriarch exhales, long and slow.

"My sweet boy."

She reaches up, brushing a blood-stained hand through his hair, and he flinches.

The smallest movement.

But I see it.

"Did you truly believe I did not know?" she whispers.

A chill runs down my spine.

"Did you think I would allow you to take my life piece by piece?"

A soft, breathy laugh leaves her lips.

"No, my darling."

Her silver eyes gleam, bright as a blade catching the sun.

"You are the one who has been dying."

The air leaves my lungs.

Varkos stills.

I see it—the way his body tenses, the flicker of confusion in his expression, the sheer, brutal moment of realization.

"What?" His voice is barely more than a whisper.

The Matriarch hums, stepping closer.

"You have been so patient," she croons, her fingers trailing along his jaw.

"So careful."

"So methodical."

She leans in.

"And yet, every time you made me weaker, you were weakening yourself."

The world shifts.

Varkos sways.

He blinks, his grip tightening on his sword, but I see it now.

The subtle tremors in his hands.

The nights he has spent too still, too silent.

The exhaustion.

The way his injuries never seem to heal fast enough.

She has been poisoning him, too.

My stomach plummets.

"No," Varkos breathes.

A broken whisper.

A denial he does not believe.

The Matriarch cups his face in her hands, pulling him closer, forcing him to look at her.

"Yes," she murmurs.

A mother’s tenderness.

A serpent’s whisper.

"You are mine."

"You have always been mine."

"And even death will not take you from me."

Varkos staggers back, his breath ragged, his sword dipping slightly.

The vial in his hand shakes.

And I see it.

He is breaking.

Losing hope.

Losing himself.

I will not let it happen.

I lunge.

I aim for her throat, for her heart, for anything that will make her bleed.

I am fast.

But she is faster.

Her magic slams into me like a crashing wave.

Pain erupts across my body, white-hot, sharp, crushing.

I feel myself lift off the ground, thrown backward.

I hit the stone floor hard, my ribs screaming.

And then?—

A flash of silver.

A blur of movement.

Varkos moves.

He moves for me.

I see it happen in slow, horrible motion.

The Matriarch turns the knife toward me.

And Varkos?—

Varkos steps between us.

The blade sinks deep.

His breath catches.

A horrible, wet sound fills the chamber.

His knees buckle.

And then?—

He falls.

Straight into my arms.

Blood gushes between my fingers, hot and slick, soaking into my dress as I clutch him, as I shake, as I?—

"Varkos."

His name is a broken thing on my lips.

The Matriarch tilts her head, watching us.

And she smiles with that crazy look in her eyes.

A slow, cruel, victorious thing.

As if this was always meant to happen.

As if she has won.

And I realize?—

I am screaming.