Zyren had personally walked her to her room, which she soon realized was located on the floor just beneath his.
It was hard to not feel relief, but if there was one thing she could be grateful for, it was the clothes they’d handed to her before she was paraded through the halls—halls teeming with servants who dared not look up as they passed.
"Don’t forget to bow! No one is excused!" he warned before leaving, his voice sharp, final. A reminder. A threat. The next time he saw her, he expected obedience—submissive, practiced, and proper. Just like all the others.
Then he was gone, his figure disappearing behind a trail of guards, the echo of his boots still ringing in her ears. Aria barely had time to gather her scattered thoughts when the door to her new room was pushed open. The human maid who had been waiting beside her slipped inside in a near panic, like she was fleeing something much worse than what lay ahead.
There was no tremble to her limbs now, but the fear in her eyes was impossible to misinterpret. It wasn’t mere nervousness. It was survival instinct. Aria followed her in, stepping into a room too lavish for what she was—a prisoner in gilded chains—and quietly shut the door behind her, the soft click of the latch somehow louder than it should have been.
Without missing a beat, she turned to face the girl, her voice laced with urgency and frustration.
"So tell me! How did his other pets die?" Her arms folded beneath her chest, stance rigid, expression unflinching.
The brown garment she now wore felt strange against her skin. It was soft—softer than the one she’d worn before—but the cut and stitching screamed servitude..
She tightened her fists beneath her arms, the bones in her hands pressing into her skin, waiting—demanding—an answer. But none came. The maid only shook her head, her eyes wide, glassy with terror.
She looked young—barely older than Aria herself. Black hair, warm brown eyes, delicate features. She had that kind of innocent beauty that made people want to protect her. And yet, she said nothing. Only lowered her head and stood there in silence.
"It’s fine! It’s only us here!" Aria’s tone softened, a touch of desperation bleeding through her anger. "I just need to know..."
But again, the girl shook her head, more gently this time, raising one trembling hand to her lips, then away. A silent gesture. She couldn’t speak.
The realization sent a ripple through Aria, her eyes narrowing as they searched the girl’s face for a lie. But she didn’t have time to waste. With sharp, decisive steps, she crossed the room, grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill from the writing table, and returned, shoving them into the maid’s hands with more force than necessary.
"Your name! ...and all the reasons why the previous owners of this room are dead!" Her voice cracked with emotion—bitterness, fear, resolve—all laced together in a low growl.
She wasn’t naïve. She knew exactly what she was: powerless. The only reason she was alive was because Zyren hadn’t yet found her disobedient enough to kill. But that was a flimsy thread, and it could snap at any moment. If she wanted to find his weakness—if she wanted to destroy him—she couldn’t afford to play it safe.
But she had just shoved the writing materials in the maids hands when she saw her shake her head as she pointed at it, again gesturing that she couldn’t write or didn’t know how.
Did Zyren give her a dumb maid on purpose?
But then, she caught it—the way the maid had unconsciously gripped the pen. Not with hesitation. Not with confusion. With muscle memory. Precision. Confidence.
Aria had grown up in a dirt-covered village. The only reason she even knew how to read and write was because her father had insisted—forced, even and she had seen illiterates who didn’t.
She holds it like she knows how to use it.
Without thinking, she raised her hand and struck the girl across the cheek, the slap echoing in the silence with a boom. The maid cried out, a pained sound escaping her lips as she stumbled to the ground.
Oh. I forgot that mute people can make sounds.
Aria crouched slightly, her voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper.
"I’ll be honest with you. You’re useless to me if we can’t communicate."
She stared, her tone frigid and cruel—because kindness had no place here.
"You say you’re dumb and can’t write? Fine. I guess I’ll just have to tell Zyren that. You can imagine how annoyed he’ll be when he finds out I bothered him with something so trivial."
She leaned closer, her words cutting.
"He’ll be pissed at me, sure. But who do you think he’ll take it out on? I’m his new pet. You’re just a human maid."
The silence hung heavy between them. The maid was trembling, and Aria felt nothing.
No pity. No guilt. Only a relentless need to survive.
"I’ll ask again. You can write," she said, this time not as a question, but as a declaration.
Her eyes didn’t blink. Her gaze didn’t waver. And sure enough, the girl gave a reluctant nod, reached for the pen, and began to write, her frown deepening with every stroke.
Aria watched her. She didn’t believe the girl was mute. But she wasn’t going to out her either. She had her reasons, and Aria understood. They were all captives here, bound by different chains.
If Aria had it bad, then this girl—this maid—had it worse. Much worse.
The girl finished quickly, her handwriting neat, refined, elegant. Aria’s eyes narrowed the moment she saw it.
No commoner wrote like that. That was noble writing—maybe even royal. Taught from birth. Hidden now, for obvious reasons.
"Rymora," Aria read aloud, her tone flat. The name felt fake, but it would do for now.
Then she looked down at the rest of the page, taken aback the second she read the words off the page.
"The first one choked on his semen and spilled it when he told her to swallow. He beheaded her on the spot."
Aria’s stomach twisted, her lips pulling into a thin, disgusted line. Her fingers tightened around the page, and for a split second, her vision blurred with rage as her eyes dropped to the second line and she kept reading.