Page 9 of Craving Their Venom
The door opens and closes. I do not turn. I hear her soft footsteps hesitate on the stone floor. I can smell her. The scent of the court’s perfumed oils now mingles with the sharp, metallic tang of her fear. It is a potent, unsettling combination.
“You wished to see me, Your Highness?” Her voice is a quiet thread in the vast silence of the room.
I turn slowly. She stands in the middle of the chamber, a small, pale figure dwarfed by the scale of the room. The midnight blue silk she wears is slightly smudged with ash from her fall, the silver collar at her neck a stark reminder of her station. She looks like a fallen star, beautiful and broken and utterly out of place.
“I did,” I say, my voice devoid of warmth. I begin to circle her, my movements slow and deliberate. I am a predator, and I want her to feel the weight of that truth in her bones. “The events of this evening were… unexpected.”
“Yes,” she whispers, her eyes following me.
“An assassin attempted to take my life. An assassin who failed, because a human pet knocked over a brazier.” I stop in front of her, my shadow engulfing her. “Tell me, Amara. Was that your intention? To save me?”
Her name is on my lips before I realize it. The sound of it in my own voice is a discordant note. I should not know her name. She should be ‘the human,’ ‘the pet.’
“I saw him,” she says, her gaze steady despite the tremor I see in her hands. “In the shadows. He was aiming at you. I… I didn’t think. I just moved.”
“You didn’t think,” I repeat, my voice a soft, dangerous hiss. “You, a slave, a creature with no power and no standing, decided to interfere in the affairs of naga. You did not think of the consequences.”
“There was no time for consequences,” she insists. “Only for the dart.”
Her logic is infuriatingly simple. It leaves no room for the complex machinations I am accustomed to. I want to find a lie, a hidden motive. It would be easier if she were a conspirator. I know how to deal with conspirators. I do not know how to deal with this.
“Perhaps you sought to gain my favor,” I suggest, my voice turning cruel. “A clever gamble. Save the Prince, and perhaps he will elevate you. Perhaps he will take you to his bed, spare you from the General’s brutes. Is that it? Was this a desperate bid for a more comfortable cage?”
A flash of fire enters her eyes, the defiance I saw in the throne room returning. “No,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “I do not want your favor. I do not want your bed. I want to live. And I did not wish to watch a man die, Prince or not.”
“You speak of my life as if it has the same value as your own,” I snarl, the insult striking a nerve. I close the distance betweenus, backing her up against the cold, unyielding stone of the wall. I place my hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her. Her scent envelops me, warm and alive. It is a distraction.
“Your life is mine,” I whisper, my face inches from hers. “It was given to me by the King. I can do with it as I please. I can give you to Zahir and his men, and they will tear you apart until your screams are the only song you remember. I can have you flogged in the public square until the skin is stripped from your back. Or I can end you myself, right here, and feel nothing but the mild inconvenience of having to clean the floor.”
I let the words hover in the air, each one a carefully chosen stone meant to crush her spirit. Her breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. Her eyes are wide, dark pools of terror. I see the frantic beat of the pulse in her throat, a fragile, fluttering thing. This is how it should be. This is control. This is order.
My hand lifts, my claws extending with a soft, metallic snick. They are a handspan from her face, the obsidian tips gleaming in the low light. I could trace a line down her cheek, and the skin would part like silk.
“Tell me why I should not kill you,” I command, my voice a low growl. “You are a complication. A disruption. You have drawn the eyes of the court. They see you now. They wonder about you. You have made yourself a target. Your continued existence is a liability to me.”
She closes her eyes. A single tear escapes and traces a path through the silver dust on her cheek. I watch its slow, glittering descent. I expect a plea. A sob. A desperate promise of obedience.
She gives me none of it.
She opens her eyes again, and the fear is still there, but it’s joined by a profound, heartbreaking sadness. “Then do it,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “If my life is such a burden to you, then take it. It will not change what I did, or why I did it.”
The words strike me like a sledgehammer to the head. She has accepted it. She has looked into the abyss of my power, at the very real threat of her own imminent, violent death, and she has not broken. She has simply… yielded to the truth of it.
My claws retract. I pull my hand back as if her skin has burned me. The rage inside me evaporates, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. The glacier of my anger has just met an immovable object, and it has shattered.
I stare at her, at this impossible creature. She is not a conspirator. She is not a manipulator. She is simply… brave. It is a quiet, desperate bravery born of a world I cannot imagine, a world where kindness is a virtue and life has inherent value.
And this bravery just saved my life.
The realization is a cold dread that settles deep in my bones. Because she is right. She has drawn the eyes of the court. Lady Xaliya’s sharp, calculating gaze flashes in my mind. The whispers of the other nobles. They will not see her act as a moment of selfless courage. They will see it as a power play. They will see her as my new favorite. A human who holds the Prince’s favor. And they will move to eliminate her.
The instinct that rises in me is sharp, fierce, and utterly unwelcome. It is the same instinct that makes Zahir want to claim her, that makes Kaelen want to protect her. It is a primal, possessive urge to shield this fragile, impossible light from the darkness of my world.
It is a weakness. And it will get me killed.
I push myself away from the wall, putting distance between us. I need to breathe air that is not filled with her scent.
“Your life,” I say, my voice rough, uneven. I clear my throat, forcing it back into its cold, authoritative tone. “Is a tool. Tonight, it was a useful one. I will not discard a useful tool. Not yet.”
