Even the guards furthest from the throne stiffened at the weight of the command.
The room, already tense, dropped into a suffocating silence as though the very walls held their breath. Aria stood frozen in place, her skin gone pale, every heartbeat pounding violently against her chest like a drum of warning.
She visibly trembled as the hiss of metal meeting air echoed behind her—the unmistakable sound of a blade unsheathing. Her breath caught, a sharp, involuntary hitch in her throat, and her wide, glassy eyes shifted slightly as she sensed the guard stepping closer.
His stance exuding the chilling readiness to carry out the command without an ounce of hesitation.
Biting down hard on her bottom lip, her teeth pressing just shy of breaking the skin, Aria reached behind her, fingers clumsily fumbling with the thin ropes that held the last of her dignity together. Her movements were slow, reluctant, but with every tug and unraveling knot, her resistance withered. The dress slipped from her body with a muted sound as it fell to the marble floor, pooling around her feet. The cold air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps across her arms as tears welled in her eyes—hot and helpless.
She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t have to. Zyren’s gaze was a physical thing, heavy and sharp, sliding over her now-naked form with open possession. She could feel the electric tension in his breath, the unmistakable excitement in his tone as he raised his hand and gestured toward her.
"Little Flame... Come," he beckoned, his voice low, coaxing, but laced with a command that prickled against her spine.
A scream built in her throat, but a different kind of fear had already hollowed out her chest. Her feet moved without permission, one step and then another, until she stood beside the throne, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug crescents into her palms.
’There’s nothing to look at,’ she hissed to herself internally, a desperate mantra. ’He can humiliate me all he wants. Let him look! Let him laugh! There’s nothing about me worth seeing.’ She tried to find comfort in the self-loathing, clinging to it like armor.
Her body wasn’t the kind others envied. Her curves were soft, her belly fuller than she liked. She was certain there was nothing about her that could be admired.
But then his voice reached her again—deeper this time, almost a growl in its husky texture. "Sit."
She didn’t need a seer to understand his intent. He wanted her on his lap.
Humiliation didn’t begin to describe what Aria felt. Her skin burned with shame as she moved stiffly, each motion mechanical, stripped of grace or dignity. She sat on his lap, her whole body rigid, her nails biting deeper into her palms. Around her, the lords said nothing—but she could feel their gazes, discreet yet present, as if they fed on the shame in the room like vultures circling a fresh corpse.
She refused to give Zyren the satisfaction of watching her cry. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring slightly as she forced her tears back. In her mind, she conjured the image of him dead—his body twisted in agony, his chest torn open, his heart carved out.
Then she imagined herself hammering his skull into the ground, over and over, until he was no longer recognizable.
But his voice, cool and composed, sliced through her thoughts as he turned his attention back to the gathered lords.
"Send more men to the borders of the villages and towns that need it the most," he said, his voice smooth as steel. "Tell the men to allow a couple of humans to die."
Aria jerked at the words, startled, her gaze snapping to him in disbelief. Her eyes locked with his, only to find his focus shamelessly centered on her exposed breasts. Heat surged up her neck, not from desire but raw fury. She immediately crossed her arms, hands flying up to cover herself as her glare seared into him.
It only made him smile. The amusement in his eyes deepened as he leaned back on the throne, entirely composed, his hands never touching her—but the possession in his gaze made her skin crawl.
"They need to be more scared of the monsters than they are of us," Zyren said, voice full of unshakable authority.
Lord Drekh nodded firmly, the sheer weight of his voice like thunder as he responded, "Yes, it would keep the rebellions to a bare minimum."
"Humans reproduce quickly," Lord Virelle added with a grin, his fingers trailing along the dyed red tips of his hair, "Wiping out one or two villages shouldn’t be a problem."
Lord Noctare nodded solemnly, his translucent red eyes glinting ominously. Lord Lythari, meanwhile, leaned sensually to the side, openly eyeing Lord Drekh’s massive frame, her expression thick with lust. She didn’t bother to hide it. Drekh, for his part, remained stoic, not sparing her a single glance.
Zyren gave a faint nod, satisfied, and with that, the meeting was over. The four lords rose in silence, each bowing their head before turning toward the massive double doors. Their footsteps echoed as they left, cloaks trailing, boots clacking on polished marble, until the doors shut behind them with a final, echoing thud.
Aria moved the moment the last echo faded, intending to scramble off Zyren’s lap—but she didn’t get far. A strong hand wrapped around her throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, yet not enough to stop her from breathing. The pressure was precise. Controlled. Terrifying.
Zyren leaned close, his lips nearly grazing her ear as he whispered, so quietly even the guards wouldn’t be able to hear. His breath was warm, but the words were cold.
"When we’re alone, you can act a little spoilt..." His voice was soft, almost gentle—eerily so.
"...but when we’re with company, you will not disobey me."
Aria’s eyes locked with his, flaring with unspoken defiance even as his grip tightened slightly, just enough to send another wave of fear spiraling through her chest.
"If I tell you to eat grass," he murmured, head tilting as if pondering the idea, "you will eat it."
His voice dropped lower, not angry—just cold and curious, which somehow made it worse.
"Because if I have to train you... you’ll be useless to me. And what will I do with a broken pet? One with only one eye?" The question hung in the air, casual in tone, but laced with chilling implication.
Terror twisted inside her like a knife, and her body trembled despite every effort to hold it back. Her pride, already bruised and stripped, gave way to sheer survival instinct as he asked, "Do you understand?"
Aria nodded immediately, frantically, tears spilling over despite herself. The pressure on her neck wasn’t strangling her—it was calculated. He was pressing into the sensitive sides, not her windpipe, using pain to assert dominance.
The moment her head dipped, he released her, and she gasped—scrambling off his lap like a cornered animal. She moved quickly, putting distance between them, but her back prickled when she felt his eyes still on her.
When she dared to glance over her shoulder, the same displeased expression was etched onto his face—only now, it was deeper...much worse.