Page 30 of Craving His Venom

Exhaling, I pick up the parchment again, forcing myself to scan the lines. The mention of Rahlazen’s name triggers fresh irritation. He still languishes in a remote corner of the manor, recovering from my venom, snarling insults at the guards. I’ll have to resolve that situation soon. But for tonight, I shelve the matter, deciding I need a clearer mind before confronting him.

Despite my attempts at focus, exhaustion finally claims me. I douse the lantern, leaving the study in darkness. My footsteps echo as I navigate the corridors, gliding past silent chambers. At my private suite, I enter and close the door behind me, tail swaying in the dim light. The bed stands large and unwelcoming, as it often does. Sleep rarely comes easily these days. Memories of that almost-kiss taunt me, entwined with the lingering warmth of her laughter.

I discard my robe, revealing the scaled expanse of my forearms and chest. My reflection in a tall mirror near the corner reveals tension strung tight across my muscles. The golden flicker in my eyes hints at emotions I can’t fully mask. I run a palm across the ridged scar near my ribs—my brush with assassination and betrayal long ago.

A part of me fears repeating history. Another corner of my mind whispers that Mira is different—she poses no threat to my life. But maybe she threatens my guarded heart, coaxing it out of the numbness I’ve cultivated. The notion unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.

Slipping under the sheets, I lie awake, the night’s hush pressing in. Outside, the jungle sings with nocturnal life, calls and rustles that once symbolized isolation but now remind me of that hidden garden. I recall the softness of her cheek in the moonlight, the whisper of her voice, the slight tilt of her headas she nearly leaned in to meet my lips. A fresh stab of longing flickers through my chest.

Eventually, I force my eyes shut, willing my breath to slow. For better or worse, I took a step today—sharing that private space, allowing us a moment of near-intimacy. Whether it spurs something deeper or leads to regret remains unclear. All I know is that the hush of my domain no longer feels like enough. She’s changed the rhythm of my solitude, and a part of me hungers to see how far that change can reach.

Morning arrives with a clammy haze. I rouse from a fitful doze, bathe quickly, and dress in my usual robes of dark fabric, embroidered faintly with serpent patterns. My tail twitches as I knot my hair back. The day’s routine murmurs in the background of my thoughts: verifying the merchant’s arrival, dealing with Rahlazen’s demands for release, ensuring the estate remains on guard for any sign the council has taken interest in my affairs. Yet a subtle anticipation lingers, too, stirring from the memory of the time spent with Mira.

When I emerge into the corridors, the staff greet me with their customary bowed heads. My instructions to keep the estate locked unless absolutely necessary stand, but the tension in the air has softened over the weeks. The guards appear less on edge. Even the human servants move with more confidence. A shaky peace has settled, though it could unravel at any sign of turmoil.

Crick intercepts me near the main hall, brandishing a report about orc sightings. “The southwestern border remains relatively calm,” he says, flipping through pages. “But we got word that a band of them might be prowling closer.”

I scan the text, tail swishing in annoyance. “Maintain patrols. I want no surprises.”

Crick nods, then lowers the report. “Any news on your end?” His eyes gleam with mischief. “Or is everything routine?”

I frown. “I have no time for your prying.” With that, I stride away, ignoring his quiet chuckle.

My next hours pass in a blur of small matters: approving supply inventories, signing off on repairs to a courtyard wall, half-listening to a minor complaint from a naga retainer about the noise of some jungle creatures at night. All the while, my thoughts circle back to that hidden garden and the moment we nearly bridged an unspoken line.

After midday, I venture into a side hallway near the servants’ chambers, compelled by a desire to see Mira again. I tell myself I’m inspecting the cleanliness of lesser-used corridors, but I know better. My steps slow as I spot her exiting a storage room, arms laden with linens. She nearly collides with me, pulling up short, eyes widening.

“My lord—” she exclaims, then corrects herself with a small smile. “Vahziryn, I didn’t expect you here.”

My pulse stirs at the sound of my name on her lips. “I’m checking the upkeep. Are you well?”

She nods, adjusting the linens. “Busy, but yes.” Her gaze flicks to my tail, as though remembering how it almost coiled around her in the garden. A hint of color warms her cheeks. “And you? I hope the estate isn’t wearing on your nerves.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips. “The estate is manageable. No major conflicts at the moment.” Then, quieter, “You should rest if you’re overworked.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I enjoy having tasks that keep me occupied.” A slight pause. “Besides, after yesterday, everything feels less daunting.”

The mention of our secret excursion tugs a surge of memory. “Perhaps we’ll go again,” I say, voice low.

A spark flares in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

The hush that follows brims with potential, until a distant clatter of pots from the kitchens shatters it. She lifts the linens. “Ineed to deliver these,” she says softly. “But maybe...we can talk later?”

The request surprises me—she’s asking, rather than me commanding. “Yes,” I manage, stepping aside. “Later.”

She moves past, the faint scent of soap and lavender trailing in her wake. My tail flexes, an urge to pull her back and recapture that fleeting closeness. But I let her go, standing alone in the corridor, chest tight with a longing that edges dangerously close to something I’d once sworn to never feel again.

By the time dusk falls, I find myself wandering near the eastern balcony, half-hoping Mira will appear. The sun sinks behind the jungle canopy, turning the sky a deep violet laced with streaks of gold. Insects begin their evening songs, creating a gentle chorus that resonates through the estate’s open windows.

She doesn’t appear, though, and a subdued disappointment settles over me. I remind myself that tomorrow is another day, that we might cross paths again in the hush of dawn or in the middle of another hidden corner of the grounds.

Returning to my chambers, I stand before the mirror, removing the gold clips from my hair. The reflection that meets me is not the same stoic warlord who once believed emotions were a liability. I see tension etched around my eyes, the gold in my gaze flickering with traces of an unwelcome desire. Yet, is it truly unwelcome?

Swallowing hard, I touch the scar on my ribs, recalling the betrayal that nearly ended me. Emotions once made me vulnerable, nearly cost my life. Now, I risk forging a new connection with someone who might slip past my armor in ways I can’t control. But I can’t ignore the slow burn that grows each time we share a moment, or the quiet thrill of watching her discover joy in something I present.

I slide into bed, restless thoughts tangling in my mind. The memory of her laugh in the hidden garden returns, and Ifind myself smiling despite the conflict in my chest. The near-kiss hovers in my mind, a silent promise waiting for the right moment. If I choose to cross that threshold, there’s no guarantee what lies on the other side, only that it will change everything.

Sleep remains elusive for a while, but eventually exhaustion drags me under. My last waking thought lingers on the image of her perched on that bench, cheeks flushed, the garden’s blossoms shining around us. If I close my eyes, her breath feels like a phantom heat, her trust poised on the brink of one unshared kiss.

---