Page 41 of Craving His Venom

My heart stutters. “Crick said the council scouts arrived. Are you all right?”

His jaw clenches, tension evident in the way his tail coils near his ankle. “They’re demanding to interview all human workers, claiming they have orders to ensure I haven’t broken any laws. Specifically, they want to see if I’ve given humans more privilege than permitted.”

I swallow. “Which includes me.”

He closes the distance, eyes scanning my face. “Yes. They asked after you by name.” A low hiss slides between his teeth. “Someone must have told them of your presence, or perhaps Rahlazen did. It’s not unexpected, but it’s earlier than I hoped.”

Fear seeps into my veins. “What will happen?”

He exhales slowly. “I’ll try to keep them from questioning you alone. If they do question you, answer truthfully but offer nothing extra. They can’t prove anything scandalous if we remain calm.” His voice carries a controlled edge, though the flick of his tail betrays worry.

I nod, hands trembling. “I understand.”

For a moment, he lifts a clawed hand as though intending to brush my cheek. Then he lowers it, seeming to remember we’re in a place where someone might see us. A pang of loss cuts through me.

Before I can speak, footsteps echo near the greenhouse entrance. We both tense, turning to see a naga scout step inside—tall, scaled a dull green, wearing a sash with the council’s emblem. He regards us with sharp curiosity, slit pupils narrowing at me, then at Vahziryn.

“Warlord,” the scout says in a clipped tone, inclining his head only slightly. “We were told we’d find you here.”

Vahziryn’s voice turns colder. “I’ll speak to you outside.”

The scout’s gaze lingers on me, and a faint sneer curls his lip. “This must be the rumored human pet.”

My pulse thuds, fury mingling with dread. Vahziryn’s tail flicks in a warning arc. “Do not address her like that,” he says, voice dropping with threat. “Her name is Mira.”

The scout’s eyes gleam with a condescending amusement. “My apologies. The council requires we verify her status.” He gestures for me to step forward. “Come.”

Everything in me screams to shrink back, but a sliver of defiance ignites. I recall Crick’s advice: remain calm, but don’t lie. I glance at Vahziryn, who nods stiffly, as if to say it’s okay. Summoning courage, I approach the scout, arms folded in a semblance of composure.

The scout circles me like I’m livestock, gaze raking over my plain tunic and the jade comb glinting in my hair. “You appear more well-kept than some. Are you his personal maid?”

My cheeks flare. “I assist with various tasks,” I reply, voice steady. “Cleaning, greenhouse work, laundry. Whatever is needed.”

He snorts, jotting a note on a small parchment. “And does he grant you special privileges? You appear comfortable in his presence.”

I recall Vahziryn’s warning. “I respect my master,” I say carefully, voice subdued. “He provides a safe environment, and I do my duties without complaint.”

The scout’s gaze narrows. “You have your own chamber?”

“Yes. It’s near the southern corridor. Like any other servant.” Not exactly a lie—I do have a private room. I won’t mention how frequently Vahziryn visited it until recently.

He hums, scribbling another note. “Do you eat with the rest of the staff, or separately?”

My tension builds, but I keep my tone neutral. “I usually take my meals in the kitchens, sometimes with other humans.”

He flicks his forked tongue. “Do you share his bed?”

My heart lurches. I sense Vahziryn tensing behind me, tail half-lifted as though to strike. I gather every scrap of composure. “I do not share his bed,” I murmur, focusing on the literal question. Our one time in the library, and that fleeting night we spent in the private chamber, are not the same as living in his bed regularly.

The scout snorts, eyeing me with suspicion, but I keep my gaze lowered. “We’ll see,” he mutters, stepping back. “The council will decide if your presence violates the guidelines for human servants.”

Vahziryn steps forward, placing himself between me and the scout. “Is that all?” His voice drips with warning, each syllable deliberate.

The scout straightens. “For now. But we’ll remain in the estate another day or two, verifying all accounts. The council expects thoroughness.”

Vahziryn’s golden eyes flash. “I trust you’ll keep your men from harassing my staff needlessly.”

A thin smile crosses the scout’s face. “We’ll do only what’s required.” He turns on his heel, robes brushing the greenhouse floor. His footsteps echo as he leaves.

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