Page 9 of Crowned In Venom

9

ANYA

P ower is a strange thing.

It does not always belong to the strongest, nor the cruelest.

No, true power is something deeper, something unseen.

And I am beginning to suspect Varkos does not hold as much of it as he pretends to.

It happens by accident.

I am moving through the corridors, listening, observing—as I always do.

The servants speak in hushed tones when they think no one listens. The guards mutter to themselves, thinking I am just another body in silk, another prize to be ignored.

But I listen.

And tonight, I hear something I shouldn’t.

“…if she finds out, he will suffer for it.”

A sharp whisper—quick, urgent.

Two figures in the servant’s hall, their backs turned to me. Two women.

One grips the other’s arm, her knuckles white. “She already suspects. That’s why the ghost is here.”

The ghost.

My breath stills.

The second woman glances over her shoulder before hissing, “Then we say nothing. You know what happened to the last one who spoke her name.”

Her name.

A chill creeps up my spine.

They part ways, slipping into the shadows of the palace.

I stay frozen for a breath longer, my mind turning over their words.

She.

A presence, unseen but feared.

A force greater than Varkos.

Greater than anyone here.

I should let it go. Should feign ignorance.

But I can’t.

Because if Varkos is not the true master of this place—if someone else pulls the strings?—

Then I need to know who.

And I need to know what they are capable of.

My chance comes sooner than expected.

A door, slightly ajar.

A corridor I have never seen before.

I should turn away.

But I don’t.

The moment I step inside, I know something is wrong.

The air is heavy, thick with the almost rotting scent of damp stone and something sickly sweet.

The walls seem too narrow, the space too quiet.

I take another step.

Then another.

And then?—

A sound.

Wet breathing.

I freeze.

The corridor opens into a dimly lit hall, lined with cells.

Not prison cells.

Something else.

I step closer, my heart pounding. The shadows move.

And then I see it.

A figure, hunched and wrong, half-hidden in the darkness.

It is not human.

Not dark elf.

Something in between.

Skin stretched too tight.

Eyes that do not blink.

Mouths—more than one.

My breath catches.

The smell of rot and old blood clings to the air, seeping into my throat.

This is not a prison.

This is an experiment.

The creature twitches. Moves.

And then—it speaks.

Not with words.

With sounds.

Voices, layered over each other, twisted into something unholy.

A sob catches in my throat.

I stumble back.

And collide with something solid.

Something warm.

Something furious.

A hand clamps around my wrist.

Before I can react, I am spun and shoved against the nearest wall—hard enough to steal my breath.

Varkos.

His body cages mine in, his breath hot against my cheek.

His grip is iron.

I should struggle. Should fight.

But I am too shaken.

I have never seen him like this.

Not cold and amused.

Not mocking and cruel.

This is pure, restrained fury.

His hand wraps around my throat—not squeezing, but holding me in place.

I am not afraid.

But I am not foolish, either.

"Did I give you permission to be here?" His voice is low, lethal.

I swallow, forcing steel into my spine. "No."

His grip tightens—a warning, not a punishment.

His face is inches from mine, eyes burning with something dangerous.

"You think you understand my world?" he growls. "You think you can learn about me like some child pressing their fingers to a blade?"

I lift my chin, refusing to shrink beneath him. "And what would you have me do? Close my eyes? Obey?"

His laugh is sharp, humorless. "It would be safer."

"For me?" I whisper. "Or for you?"

His eyes flash.

For the first time, I see something deeper in him.

Not just anger.

Not just control.

Fear.

Not of me.

Not of the ghost lurking in the shadows.

Of her.

Of the one who created what lies in the darkness of that corridor.

I exhale softly. "Who did this?"

His grip on my throat trembles.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to tell me everything I need to know.

And then, for the first time, he speaks her name.

"The Matriarch."