Aria woke up—but it took everything in her not to open her eyes and glance beside her, afraid Zyren might still be lying next to her.
She remembered every single thing that had happened—including the parts she didn’t want to recall. The memories clung to her like thick smoke, suffocating and invasive. It was enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut even tighter and curl in on herself beneath the covers.
She lay motionless, doing her best to silently perceive her environment—to listen, to sense—desperate to make sure she was alone before daring to open her eyes.
Her body was sore, but that was the last thing on her mind.
Only when she felt nothing beside her on the bed—no presence, no heat, no breath—did she cautiously crack her eyes open. Scooting back instinctively, she let out a small breath of relief when she saw she was indeed alone. The sheets beside her were cold. Zyren was gone.
She turned, glancing toward the window. The sun had already set—only faint traces of lingering dusk cast long shadows across the room, streaking in through the curtains like fading threads of gold and gray.
Slowly, she rose from the bed, gripping the carved wooden frame for support as she stood on shaky legs. That’s when the smell hit her—something rich and delicious wafting from the far side of the room.
She blinked and turned, surprised to see several platters of food set out, still covered, clearly left there for her.
But the moment was short-lived.
She looked down—and froze. Her entire face flushed red, a deep, hot shade of shame coloring her cheeks as she saw the thick trails of Zyren’s seed sliding slowly down her thighs.
The humiliation stabbed through her more deeply than any physical ache. Without another thought, she turned and hurried toward the bathroom, ignoring everything else. She stepped into the tub and was just about to fill it herself when she heard the sound of the main door opening.
Panic gripped her instantly. Her heart slammed into her ribs as she braced herself, still completely naked.
She was taken aback when Rymora appeared a few moments later, stepping in silently.
Rymora didn’t speak—but she didn’t need to. Her expression said more than any words could, even though there was no trace of judgment in her eyes.
Without saying a thing, she moved forward and took over, helping Aria bathe and wash her hair with gentle, efficient movements. Aria sat still in the tub, her posture hollow, like someone who had lost half their soul.
"I know what I’m doing," Aria suddenly whispered, her voice low and mournful. It surprised Rymora, who had been lost in her own thoughts until then.
"I want revenge on him... but my sister comes first. She’s alive. Her well-being comes first." Aria’s voice cracked as she fixed a stubborn stare forward—unable to see Rymora behind her, but determined to be understood.
Rymora simply nodded, silent in her understanding. Even though Aria couldn’t see her face, the gesture carried weight.
After that, Aria didn’t speak again, though her eyes reddened. She slowly lowered herself deeper into the tub, beyond grateful that the water was cold. The chill soothed her more than warmth ever could. It numbed the ache inside her, even if just a little.
She didn’t stay in long. Eventually, she rose and dried off, dressing quietly. She did her best not to look too closely at the marks scattered across her body. She was sure they were worse along her back—areas she couldn’t see but could still feel.
More frustrating was the fact that none of the clothes left for her could hide them. Every piece was too short, too fitted. In the end, all she could do was throw on a dark coat, even though it was no longer than the dress beneath it, which barely reached halfway down her thighs.
"I’m not going out," Aria said suddenly, pointing at the platters of food that had been left for her. "I’m supposed to be sick, so I have to keep pretending I’m unwell... at least until I’m ready to fight Harriet."
The last part was whispered.
Something she knew, deep down, she could never truly be ready to do.
"You can leave and do whatev—" she began, but Rymora suddenly shook her head with unexpected urgency. Her expression shifted to one of alarm, the slightest hint of panic flashing across her features.
Rymora knew that she had only been able to avoid Lord Drehk’s persistent summons because she’d refused to stay in her assigned room, instead hiding in one of the other maids’ chambers—a trick that couldn’t go on forever.
Without a word, she walked over to a nearby desk, picked up a pen and parchment, and began to scribble something quickly before handing it to Aria.
Aria nearly rolled her eyes, though she didn’t say anything aloud. Her maid was still pretending to be mute.
She waited, and once Rymora handed over the note, she read it.
"Can I stay here with you? I’d rather stay here with you."
Aria didn’t miss the flicker of panic on the girl’s face.
"Zyren will return. I’m not sure you’ll want to be here when he does," Aria warned, her tone quiet, heavy with meaning.
"You can stay until after dinner. Then you’ll have to leave. If there’s something wrong with your room..." she added, trailing off, having no real intention of prying into whatever made the maid afraid.
"...You can stay in the lower quarters instead. It’s crowded, but just until I get you assigned to a different room," Aria finished, already mentally filing the matter away as something she could deal with later.
Rymora nodded, the smallest smile tugging at her lips—though it didn’t reach her eyes.
She knew a change of room wouldn’t solve anything.
She also knew Zyren’s chambers were the safest place she could be. That alone was a bitter irony.
That evening, she ate with Aria. Aria quietly slid her one of the plates, letting her eat until she was completely full and could take no more until the time when she needed to leave.