Rymora was pissed, but that didn’t mean she had any intention of opening her mouth to speak outright.
Instead, she walked over to Aria’s side with stiff, deliberate steps, picking up a piece of paper from the table on her side of the room and scribbling on it in a way that made her irritation painfully clear.
When she was done, she handed the note over without a word. Aria took it from her, glanced at the words, and responded even with the paper still in her hands.
"You’re asking why I would say something that’s clearly not true?" Aria asked, giving Rymora a knowing look—one that said they both understood the truth beneath the lie.
"My sister is trustworthy. And besides, it’s not like there’s any proof." She offered the answer calmly, though she could still see the tightness in Rymora’s jaw and the glint in her eyes. Her silence was loud. She was clearly still upset, and she made it known without needing to say a single word.
Aria let the paper fall to the bed and dropped onto the mattress beside it, continuing to speak to Rymora, who now stood with her arms folded, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.
"What about the problem with your apartment? Is it better now?" Aria asked, her tone softening. She remembered clearly how restless Rymora had been—how the bags under her eyes deepened by the day, how she jolted at shadows.
It had gotten so bad that Aria had taken it upon herself to request a different space for her.
Rymora nodded in response, but a frown tugged at her lips as her mind drifted—unwanted, uninvited—to Lord Drehk. She had tried her best not to think about him, but it was failing.
Badly. Her body still tingled with the memory of every single thing they had done, every breath, every touch.
She should have known better. She was a werewolf. He was a vampire. It was more than wrong—it was dangerous.
Worse, he hadn’t noticed anything off about her scent. He should have. He should’ve killed her the moment he caught it.
I need to distance myself from him, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra. But her body—the way it stirred at the memory of his mouth on her skin—told a different story.
She was still caught in the thought when she noticed Aria getting up from the bed, shrugging a coat over the black dress she already had on.
You’re going out? Rymora would’ve asked—or at least scribbled it down—when Aria beat her to it.
"Yes! I’m going out," Aria said easily, adjusting the coat around her shoulders. "Figured since I have some spare time, I could see Clay. I haven’t seen him in a while."
Rymora fixed her with a sharp look—stern, warning, protective—even though she said nothing. Her gaze alone screamed, Be careful.
"I know," Aria replied, already stepping toward the door. "I’ll come back and wash myself from head to toe!" she promised with a half-smile, knowing exactly what Rymora meant. The last thing she needed was the scent of another male lingering on her skin—not with Zyren around.
Rymora rushed to follow closely behind as Aria opened the door. The guards didn’t even blink. They bowed slightly, something Aria barely acknowledged as she made her way down the corridor, each step quick and deliberate.
Rymora sighed inwardly. Out of the room, she had no voice again—at least not one anyone would listen to. She was back to simple gestures, nods, frowns, and silence.
They reached the garden fast. It was quieter than usual, the breeze brushing through the trees gently, sunlight slipping through the leaves in dappled gold. Rymora silently prayed Zyren wouldn’t find out—or at least wouldn’t be upset—and that Aria would keep her distance from Clay.
Even Rymora could tell—Clay’s interest in Aria had only grown, especially now that Zyren’s favor for her was clear.
Aria stepped into the garden and looked around, hope flickering across her face until her eyes brightened as she spotted Clay crouched beside a tree, tending to a patch of soil. Her face lit up.
"Clay!" she called out, unable to hide her excitement, her voice sweet and light in the fresh garden air.
His head snapped up, blue eyes shining as he smiled. His blonde hair shimmered under the light as it curled beneath his hat. He stood to greet her, bowing slightly.
Aria waved her hand quickly. "Don’t do that. I’m a slave—even if I belong to the king," she reminded him, her tone soft but steady.
Clay chuckled, crouching back down to the ground. "Yes, but do you know how many people have killed for your position?" he said, a little too lightheartedly, though they both knew it was true. The blood of the tournament hadn’t dried from memory.
"Heard you were sick. Poisoned," he added, glancing up at her with worry.
Aria, already shaking her head, almost blurted the truth before Rymora kicked her gently from behind, a silent warning.
"Yes! It was pretty bad," Aria corrected quickly, shifting her tone. "I’m still recovering."
She was shocked to realize how close she had come to saying too much—something Zyren had warned could lead to someone’s death. Anyone’s. Even Clay’s.
I didn’t know I trusted him that much, she thought, stunned by the realization.
Clay was watching her closely. "I brought something for you," he said with a soft smile, reaching into his pockets. "A few seeds—edible, very sweet. They’ll give you strength. You’ll need it if you’re going to learn to defend yourself."
He said it gently, but the underlying suggestion was clear: he knew she was expected to recover—and still pretend she was weak.
Rymora gave Clay a look of open disapproval, her arms folded tightly. She didn’t one bit.
But Aria didn’t hesitate. She nodded eagerly, took the small pouch from Clay, and immediately handed it over to Rymora, who took it wordlessly, though her disapproval hadn’t faded.
"Thanks! I’ll take it," Aria said, smiling brightly.
"At least one every day—for the best effect," Clay explained, his voice a little more cheerful now, clearly thrilled to see her up and about.
He looked at her like she was something rare—delicate and luminous. And Aria, despite everything, couldn’t help but admire how striking he looked in that moment. His kindness, his calm, his warmth. Compared to Zyren’s dangerous, overwhelming presence... Clay felt like sunlight.
She would be lying if she said she didn’t prefer looking at Clay more.