Aria didn’t hesitate. She glided forward with measured steps, skirts whispering against the polished floor, and lowered herself into the seat beside Zyren. Her posture was deliberately composed, eyes fixed ahead as though the dozens of curious, suspicious, and hostile gazes around the table simply didn’t exist.
From behind her, a servant approached in silence, bowing before leaning close enough to hear her quiet voice. Aria spoke without rushing, her tone soft but carrying the weight of someone accustomed to being obeyed. One by one, she named the dishes she wanted, each request met with a deferential nod before the servant withdrew.
It was only then that Zyren’s voice cut through the low hum of the hall.
The statement, delivered in a tone sharper and louder than his usual, was enough to command every ear in the room. The conversations died instantly. No one dared so much as to shift in their chair.
"...but clearly, that has changed."
His mouth curved with the faintest smile, the kind that hinted at secrets only he knew. Across the table, Lady Vivian’s fingers clenched hard enough around her silver fork to warp the metal. The faint, grating twist of it breaking shape was almost drowned out by the tension flooding the air. Her shoulders trembled, not from fear but from an anger she barely kept contained.
"Aria is bound to me," Zyren continued, each word deliberate. "We have completed the binding ritual."
The reaction was immediate and rippled through the hall like a sudden wind. Sharp gasps escaped several throats—small sounds, yet amplified by the collective awe and disbelief they carried. A few nobles even rose halfway from their seats before realizing their breach of decorum.
Zyren’s gaze swept the room, slow and unblinking, locking eyes with each lord in turn. "Make no mistake. She may not possess my authority, but she is bound to me."
Aria kept her expression still, though inside she felt the tremor of triumph mixed with a quiet wariness. He had just given her more than she’d hoped for—public acknowledgment, status, protection. But from Zyren, gifts always came with invisible chains.
Filling his cup, he rose to his feet. The rustle of fabric followed as every person present pushed back their chairs to stand in unison. No one dared remain seated while the king was upright.
He lifted his cup high. "To Aria."
The hall echoed his words, though the forced cheer in some voices was painfully thin. A few looked like they’d rather choke on their own tongues than offer the toast again.
Aria’s lips curved faintly as she murmured the words along with them. The sip of wine that followed tasted sharper than usual, as though the moment itself had infused it with something richer. Freedom might have been too strong a word, but there was space now—space to maneuver, to prepare. Zyren was a fortress she couldn’t topple head-on, but with this new position, she could work around the walls.
Even if he crowned her queen of vampires, she would still one day see him fall.
Zyren sat again, and so did she. Across the table, Lady Vivian remained unnervingly still. A fresh fork had been set by her plate, but she didn’t touch it, her fingers hovering over the silver as though she knew it would meet the same fate as the last.
Her chest rose and fell sharply. Then, with a composure so precise it felt rehearsed, she raised her hand.
"Lady Vivian," Zyren acknowledged, his voice dropping low, smooth with the kind of danger that made the air seem thinner.
She stood, bowing low. "My king," she began, her words crisp and respectful, though her gaze never once slid toward Aria. "Now that Lady Aria is bound to you, she is no longer suffering from the poison." Vivian’s tone sharpened slightly, her next words cutting through the hall like glass. "She must still finish the tournament. A winner must be decided."
The implication was clear to all—Vivian was openly pressing for a match that might kill Zyren’s newly bound partner. Bold, almost suicidal.
But Vivian did not back down. If she gave Aria more time, that seat—queen of the vampires—would be within the girl’s reach. And that was something Vivian could not allow.
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Even the sound of breathing thinned as everyone waited for Zyren’s response.
Aria, for her part, was unconcerned. Her opponent, Harriet, was human. With her current strength—and with more power soon to come—there was no outcome where she lost.
"I’m aware," Zyren said at last, his voice smooth as silk over steel. "But I’m sure you are also aware that Harriet is seriously injured. She has only just woken from a coma."
Vivian’s spine stiffened.
"She will not be able to fight for months," he went on, holding her in his gaze like a predator studying prey. "When she is ready, the match will take place."
He stood again, prompting the room to rise with him. But instead of leaving, he allowed the silence to stretch before speaking once more.
"Most of you have already heard, or will soon, but I’ll say it now. I visited the village the carriage driver went to before he turned into a monster."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The mere mention of it drew the heat from the air. Faces paled.
"The village was filled with Zyrens," he said, his tone hardening. "I wiped them all out. But some had already escaped long before I arrived."
The quiet that followed was so complete a dropped pin would have echoed like thunder.
"Harriet also visited that village," Zyren added. "Until I find proof she is a monster, she is free to do as she likes. If any of you treat her otherwise..." He left the threat unfinished, but none in the room doubted the consequences.
Without another glance at them, he finally turned and strode out of the hall.
Normally, Aria would have risen to follow, but this time, she didn’t move. Her gaze swept the hall instead, reading the subtle shifts in posture, the whispered exchanges, the restrained fury on certain faces. Chaos was coming—she could feel it brewing beneath the surface.
But she was no longer the weak, uncertain figure who had once been easy to dismiss.