Aria felt her legs trembling beneath her, an involuntary shiver running down her spine as she willed them to stay upright. The only reason she hadn’t already collapsed to her knees was the sheer weight of shock anchoring her in place.
It hadn’t even been a full minute since Zyren had expelled what looked like his very life’s blood onto the banquet floor, and yet, right before her eyes, the terrifying truth settled in—his moment of weakness was already fading.
Whatever agony had briefly clouded his gaze had now vanished, leaving no trace behind. His crimson eyes, once dimmed by torment, were clear again, sharp and unwavering. There was no sign of pain in them now.
And she wasn’t the only one frozen by disbelief.
All around the great hall, nobles, lords, and servants alike stared in stunned silence. The atmosphere pulsed with unease, the air thick enough to choke on. But while Aria could barely breathe beneath the weight of her terror—especially knowing she had been the one who poisoned him—those around her moved with unexpected swiftness.
Smiles bloomed on faces, relief painted across expressions, and then, one by one, they all dropped to their knees. Even the lords who once sat at the highest positions of authority sank to the ground in deference.
Without hesitation, Aria followed suit, her body reacting instinctively, driven by sheer survival. Her knees met the floor with a soft thud, her head lowering just slightly—not in reverence, but in silent, desperate preparation for death.
Because this wasn’t a small crime.
It wasn’t something one could atone for with mere lashes or a few days in the dungeons. It wasn’t a crime she ever expected Zyren to forgive.
No, she had poisoned a king. Not just any king, but Zyren, the vampire who ruled with fear and blood, who now stood very much alive—breathing, moving, and horrifyingly aware.
Even if his vampiric heart was technically long dead, he was not. And that meant only one thing: she was going to die.
"Well..." Zyren’s voice broke through the silence like a knife through flesh. "Honestly, I was enjoying today so much, I just knew something had to go wrong."
There was a strange quality to his tone—a wistful longing buried beneath amusement, and a brief, fleeting flicker of sorrow that darkened his eyes. It passed almost too quickly to be real, like a shadow slipping over his features. Almost like it had never been there.
With unhurried grace, he stepped away from the blood-drenched chair where he had been sitting. His every movement left crimson streaks behind, the dark stains painting a trail across the banquet hall floor.
His steps took him toward the massive double doors of the hall—where even the guards were now kneeling, heads bowed low to the ground in total submission.
Zyren’s sword was still strapped at his side, but he ignored it.
Instead, his attention fell on the guard nearest to him—a younger vampire with stark red eyes wide in terror. The guard didn’t dare flinch. Even the proximity of his king was enough to make his entire body quake. A cold, merciless energy emanated from Zyren, thick with bloodlust, heavy enough to press the guard’s face to the floor.
Without a word, Zyren reached out and unsheathed the guard’s weapon.
The sound of steel sliding from its scabbard rang out, loud and metallic. It cut through the room like thunder, and with it came a wave of dread that washed over every soul present—especially Aria.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Her heart thudded like a war drum in her chest. The reality of what was about to happen settled in her bones like ice.
But did she regret it?
No. The answer was fierce, even in the darkest corners of her mind.
If she had the chance again, she would do it again—only with a stronger dose this time. Something that would burn his insides to ash before he could take a single breath.
Still, as she listened to Zyren’s deliberate footsteps draw closer, the bitterness inside her curled into a knot of fear.
He began to speak again, not to her, but to the lords, to the side of the room where they remained kneeling along with everyone.
"Lord Noctare, Virelle, Drehk, and Lady Lythari," he called their names one by one, his tone almost casual. "What do you all think?"
The lords wasted no time.
"The culprit should be found and executed," Lord Noctare said firmly, his voice echoing with fury.
"Stripped and hung for all to see!" Lord Virelle declared, red-tipped dark hair catching the candlelight like the tip of a flame.
"A punishment worse than death," Lord Drehk added coldly, his hulking figure unmoving, his voice as immovable as stone. "Dead weight."
Lady Lythari stepped forward with a cruel smile playing at her lips. Her tone was gleeful, her eyes glinting. "Their insides pulled out with hot iron... And if they’re a vampire, even better. We’ll watch them heal just to rip them open again."
She had stayed still until then, silent and composed. But now, her body shook. Visibly. Her breath came in short bursts. Her vision blurred with tears she could no longer hold back.
The punishments—they were worse than anything she had dared imagine.
Her mind latched onto Lord Drehk’s suggestion: dead weight
Her blood felt cold in her veins.
And as she stared down at the floor, unable to lift her head, she could feel the weight of Zyren’s presence growing nearer and nearer, the sword in his hand gleaming faintly beneath the hall’s flickering lights.
"Hmm..." Zyren’s hum echoed softly through the vast hall, low and contemplative, as he continued his slow, deliberate stride back toward the center of the bloodstained room—the same place he had stood only moments ago, dripping with his own spilled life.
There was a subtle smile curving his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was too controlled, too calculated—dangerous in its calm.
As he reached the middle of the room, he stopped, pausing just long enough to glance around at the faces turned toward the floor, his gaze lingering before he finally spoke.
"Those punishments..." he said, voice smooth but chilling, "don’t sound good enough."
The moment the words left his mouth, the air in the hall seemed to constrict. A dark glint sparked in his eyes—unmistakable malice laced with amusement.
And walked straight toward her. He came to a halt right in front of her, towering above where she knelt. The sharp click of his boots stopped just inches away from her bowed form.
Aria’s breath hitched. Her heart, already thundering, now pounded so fiercely she could barely hear anything else. But as his shadow fell over her, the trembling in her limbs ceased—not from relief, but from something deeper.
Slowly, she lifted her head, her neck stiff with tension. Her eyes locked with his, there was a stubborn streak burning bright in her expression.
Her back straightened even as her knees remained pressed to the ground. Her jaw clenched. Prepared to curse him with her last breath...to spit the truth into his face without shame...to confess what she had done with pride.
Her only regret is that she wished she had done it better...made it stronger...deadlier.