Aria continued to lie motionless on the bed, even as the soft creak of the door opening reached her ears. The careful sound of footsteps followed, light enough that she knew it could only be Rymora.
A soft rustle whispered beside her as something—likely a piece of paper—was placed down. Still, Aria didn’t move, arms folded tight around her waist, her eyes stubbornly shut.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, a sharp reminder of the fear curling inside her at the thought of Zyren bursting through the door at any second. She wasn’t alone in her dread; Rymora’s face looked tight and sickly pale, like she’d swallowed something rotten, even as she hovered quietly near the bed.
Time dragged by at an excruciating crawl, far slower than Aria could bear, until the golden rays of sunlight piercing through the window slowly disappeared.
Flickering her eyes open, she found night had fallen. But there was no comfort in the dark; Aria knew she was only delaying the inevitable.
’Zyren will be furious,’ she thought grimly. Yet no matter how much she braced herself, wearing one of the scandalous dresses in the wardrobe had been out of the question. She simply couldn’t.
So when the door slammed open with a violent bang, she wasn’t surprised. A grim sort of relief even passed through her.
Aria stiffened, fists clenching tighter than her already shut eyes, as she listened to the heavy footsteps crossing the room. She heard Rymora drop to her knees with a muted thud.
She waited for Zyren’s voice, but none came.
Instead, she felt a hand brush through her hair—not rough or punishing, as she had expected, but surprisingly light, almost... gentle.
"Are you aware that I have quite an excellent ear?"
His voice, smooth yet chilling, wrapped around her, just as she felt the bed dip beneath his weight.
"I can hear your heart pounding. I can hear the fear racing through your veins."
A pause. Then, a mocking lilt crept into his tone.
"Must be a bad dream."
The underlying threat was enough to force Aria’s lashes to flutter open. She stared up at him, her breath catching at the fierce intensity of his gaze—and the dark displeasure simmering beneath it.
"Little flame..." he said, a slow, dangerous smile curving his mouth—one that might as well have been a dagger slipping into her gut. "You’d better have a good reason for dragging me away from my dinner."
Aria gritted her teeth and sat up slowly on the bed, her mind scrambling.
You could have sent a guard, she wanted to snap but bit it back, forcing out the only excuse she had prepared.
"I-I’m sick," she whispered hoarsely. "The journey... I—it would be better if I ate in my room for a while."
For a fleeting second, she saw confusion flash across Zyren’s face—an expression she had never seen before on him.
"Sick?" he repeated sharply, spitting the word like it offended him. "Humans," he added in disgust, his sharp gaze raking over her.
Before she could brace herself, he reached forward and yanked the blanket away, exposing her thin gown and trembling form.
Aria instinctively tensed, bracing for humiliation or anger—but instead, she felt herself being lifted effortlessly into his arms.
Despite her size, she felt like a doll against the raw power radiating from him.
Rymora, quick to respond despite the bruises marring her face, snatched a fur coat from the wardrobe. She held it up with her head bowed low.
Zyren’s gaze flickered briefly over Rymora’s injuries—a flash of something unreadable crossing his features—before he grabbed the coat and draped it over Aria.
Aria opened her mouth, ready to ask where he was taking her as they stepped out but froze when she caught sight of two guards standing outside the door of the room—guards she could have sworn were missing when Lady Vivian had stormed in.
Without slowing, Zyren spoke, his voice like a whip crack.
"Get the human healer," he ordered.
One of the guards immediately bowed low before disappearing down the corridor.
Aria clung to the coat, trying to steady her breathing as Zyren carried her through the hallways and up the stairs with smooth, unhurried strides.
Eventually, they stopped before two massive doors that swung open to reveal an enormous dining hall.
A sparkling chandelier cast pools of golden light over the long, elegant table lined with plush, high-backed chairs. Most seats were occupied, yet not a single plate had been touched.
A fresh wave of anxiety curled in Aria’s gut. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the fur tighter.
If it’s a human healer, he’ll side with me. If it’s a vampire... I’ll just have to claim he doesn’t know enough about human health, she thought desperately.
Zyren moved to his seat—the largest and most ornate at the head of the table—and without ceremony, seated himself with Aria still perched on his lap like some prized possession.
Before she could fully process the scene, the familiar guard entered, a tall man at his side.
The newcomer was striking: tall, sharp-featured, with sleek black hair and unsettlingly vivid blue eyes. His scholarly air and quiet smile should have been reassuring—but Aria’s skin crawled the second their gazes met.
It was a soft smile he wore, but it made her feel as though a thousand ants were crawling beneath her skin.
"My pet is sick," Zyren said casually, like stating the weather. "Heal her, Bovan."
The man—Bovan—bowed low.
"Yes, my King," he answered smoothly. "I can already see she’s quite unwell."
The words alone sent alarm bells ringing in Aria’s mind.
"I’ll admit her to the healing wing for a few days," Bovan continued with a polished, almost too eager tone.
Panic spiked in Aria’s chest. No. No, absolutely not.
She opened her mouth to object—but Zyren was faster.
He leaned closer, his voice a velvet blade as he spoke, his lips brushing against her right ear.
"When you return," he said lowly, "I expect you to eat with me without breaks."
Aria sat frozen, heart pounding, knowing she couldn’t even bring herself to nod.