After eating, there was absolutely no way Aria would return upstairs to Zyren’s room.
The thought alone made her stomach churn, and although she was tempted to ask for a different room, one glance at the innkeeper’s face told her it would be pointless. He looked like he’d rather gnaw off his own foot than say another word to her.
Instead, she quietly slipped away from the counter, moving toward one of the empty wooden tables scattered across the inn’s main floor.
She picked one in a shadowy corner and all but collapsed onto it, lowering her aching body into the chair with a soft wince. Her limbs felt like they’d been torn apart and reassembled wrong, her muscles screaming in protest with every motion.
The journey here had been brutal, and the fact that she’d never ridden a horse before only made things worse. Her thighs throbbed. Her back ached. And her butt—she swore the bones might be bruised.
Gingerly, she rested her cheek on the cool surface of the table, letting her eyelids flutter closed, seeking just a few moments of reprieve. Her red curls spilled over her face and shoulders, and in seconds, exhaustion swallowed her whole.
Sleep came quickly, but soon her rest was cut short with a loud clang—the sound of something metal or glass hitting the floor nearby. The crash jolted her awake like a whip to her spine.
She blinked, disoriented, wiping a string of drool from the corner of her mouth as she rubbed at her eyes. The inn’s windows glowed with a deep orange hue. Her heart stuttered as she realized the sun had already set. She had been asleep for hours.
And Zyren—he had told her to wake him.
Cursing under her breath, she shoved herself upright, surprised to find that her body didn’t hurt quite as much anymore. The soreness remained, but it was dulled, like a fire burned down to embers.
She hurried to her feet, her steps brisk as she moved past the wide-open entrance of the inn—but then she stopped. Froze.
The sky outside was darkening into twilight, rich purples and bruised blues streaking overhead. And instead of turning toward the stairs, her feet took her outside, almost against her will. There was something about the scene before her that caught her off guard.
People were everywhere.
The roads were alive, buzzing with activity. Men and women moved through the streets, their clothes far finer than her own travel-worn rags.
Silks, velvets, tailored vests, and high boots. Even the children had ribbons in their hair and polished shoes. Their faces held the softness, elegance that safety and food brought. Not the worn and hardened looks of the people she grew up with. These people were well-fed. Well-kept. Content.
The sight of it all left a bitter taste in her mouth. But before she could wallow too long, a voice cut through the moment like a blade.
She turned sharply, immediately recognizing the crimson glint of vampire eyes—but this wasn’t Zyren. The man before her had brown hair and a face she didn’t know, though something about his presence was unmistakable—one of Zyren’s guards. His black hood cast deep shadows over his features, but there was a hint of... concern?
"You can leave!" he repeated, slower this time, his tone firmer. "Find a job. Live a good life. Build another family."
Aria almost laughed. The sound that escaped her lips was bitter and hollow. "My family is dead," she said, her voice sharp as glass, her brown eyes locking onto his with open hostility. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
But instead of retorting, the vampire only shook his head.
"...And what do you hope to achieve by staying?"
"That’s none of your business," she hissed, taking a step closer, unafraid. He was still a vampire, yes—but she knew he wouldn’t kill her. Not here. Not now.
His voice dropped lower, so deep it was barely audible over the distant murmur of the crowd. "Heed my warning," he said slowly, each word weighted and deliberate. "He manipulates people... for his amusement."
Aria’s throat tightened.
"There are many things worse than death," he went on. "Choosing to be HIS
His words settled like ice in her chest. Still, she forced herself to stand tall. But fear began to bleed through the cracks in her composure, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
"Zyren is the Vampire King," the guard continued, his voice rougher now. "Do you know how much blood he had to spill to sit on that throne?"
He stepped forward, slowly, as if trying not to spook her. "You’d be nothing but a toy to him. A pretty thing to play with. A puppet for his games."
And despite her defiance, Aria felt it—that flicker of vulnerability, the thread of uncertainty that wove itself through her mind. She’d seen Zyren’s power. His cruelty. She knew this warning wasn’t empty.
"You’ve suffered enough," the man said quietly. "You’ll find nothing but more pain here."
There was something... genuine in his voice. So much so that she found herself speechless for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.
"What’s in it for you?" she finally asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why warn me?"
The guard smiled. It was brief. Sad. His eyes softened before he turned away, starting back toward the inn’s entrance. "Do you really think you’re the first human he’s taken interest in?"
He paused just before stepping inside, glancing over his shoulder.
"The first pet?" he said. "Most don’t last the week."
His next words were lighter, but no less unsettling. "Humans aren’t so bad," he said with a shrug. "Apart from their blood being exquisite, I find them to be... such pitiful little things."
His tone was casual, but it sent another chill down her spine. There was no malice in it. Just truth. Plain and brutal.
Aria’s anger flared again, as she watched him turn back into the inn. She simply stared ahead at the bustling crowd the carefree laughter and chatter of people who didn’t know—or didn’t care—about the monsters in their midst.
’He had no reason to lie...’ The thought wormed its way into her mind, making her stomach twist with unease. Was she trying to take on more than she could handle?
The idea terrified her.
But she didn’t run. Instead, she stepped back, away from the lively street. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, the fire in her chest returning with renewed purpose.
She would see this through to the end. No matter the cost.
But just as she turned to retreat inside, she heard a voice she recognized far too well—smooth, dark, and cutting.
"Good," Zyren said from behind her, his words curling around her like smoke. "It would’ve been a shame to cut off those pretty legs."