CHAPTER 165: SMELL OF BLOOD

Xeera soon returned, her footsteps soft but purposeful as she approached the room. By then, Harriet was already dressed, her usual short gown replaced with a plain, ankle-length one that felt foreign against her skin.

The weight of the fabric was unfamiliar, but she didn’t complain. She tugged it down instinctively before reaching for the long dark coat that hung near the bedpost. The fabric was thick, almost too warm, but she welcomed the way it enveloped her body.

With a soft exhale, she pulled the hood over her head, hiding the black shimmer of her hair and the soft curve of her face. It was a quiet act of retreat, of self-erasure. Then, without a word, she stepped out of the room, her posture composed yet tight with unshed tension.

She made her way to the carriage with her head lowered, not daring to lift her gaze to the guards she passed or the curious eyes that might have followed her from behind windows.

The castle seemed to echo in silence around her, the kind of silence that only deepened the hollow ache in her chest. She hadn’t even realized she had been hoping—hoping for someone, anyone, to stop her. To remind her she still mattered to someone in that cursed place.

But no one came.

Not a guard. Not a servant. Not Zyren.

Her chest tightened as she took the final steps toward the waiting carriage. Her hands trembled faintly as she reached for the handle, but she masked the movement by clutching her coat tighter. She stepped in fully, the shadows of the interior wrapping around her like a second cloak—until she froze mid-motion.

Her entire body stiffened. Her breath caught.

Sitting across from her, as composed and poised as if he owned the world, was King Jared.

Her heart skipped.

She barely had time to react—her eyes wide with disbelief, her mouth parting in a silent gasp—before Xeera, unaware of anything amiss, calmly closed the door behind her and circled around to sit by the driver’s seat. The carriage jolted to life as the horses moved, and the soft rumble of wheels against the path masked the thick silence that suddenly fell between them.

Harriet was still frozen, her limbs locked in place. King Jared sat calmly, arms loosely folded, his posture elegant but commanding. He didn’t look at her at first. His gaze was fixed outside the window, observing the city as if it were a painting he had seen too many times.

"I bite," he said without turning, his voice smooth like velvet laced with steel, "but I’m not interested in humans."

It took Harriet a moment to breathe again, to pull herself back into her body. Her muscles strained with tension, her instincts screamed to run. But the carriage was already in motion. The door was shut. There was nowhere to go.

Her fingers clutched the edge of her seat.

"I have no business with you..." she began, her tone clipped, voice strained. But she faltered halfway through, the warning glare he threw her way slicing through her defiance like a knife.

"...Your Highness," she corrected, her voice barely above a whisper, every syllable carrying the weight of survival.

Jared’s cold gaze softened into neutrality once again, the shift so swift it unsettled her more than the threat itself.

"Well clearly, I have business with you," he said, voice dry. "And I’m not interested in your weak body either. I have stronger women for that."

Harriet stiffened. Her jaw clenched. Her first instinct was to feel relieved, but something in the way he dismissed her—as if she were beneath his notice—made heat prickle under her skin. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or shame, but it coiled in her gut all the same.

"I need to know which side you fall on," Jared continued without pause. "I know where everyone is... but you—"

Harriet didn’t let him finish. Her head turned sharply, eyes scanning the carriage as if expecting to find someone hidden behind a curtain or under the seat—some unseen ear listening.

"I serve King Zyren!" she blurted, her voice too quick, too practiced, too desperate. As though by declaring it first, she could shape it into the truth, make it unshakable.

"There’s no one here but us," Jared said coolly, watching her. "The driver also belongs to me."

His reassurance didn’t reassure her. It only made the air feel heavier. Like the space had closed in around her.

"Your family would be well taken care of. No harm would come to them."

Harriet’s fingers twitched. Her face remained composed beneath the shadow of her hood, but her eyes betrayed her. They flickered—not quite softening, but hesitating. That one moment of pause was all Jared needed to know his words had landed.

"Humans are slaves to vampires. Food, to be precise," he said, his tone measured, almost philosophical. "For werewolves like me..." He shifted slightly, and the faint rise of his furry ears made her pulse spike. "Humans are a species that can be ignored. We do not need you to survive."

She believed him.

There was no arrogance in his voice, no malice. Just fact. Pure, unshaken fact. And it was that calmness, that frightening honesty, that made her believe every word.

He was dangerous—of that she was certain—but not like Zyren. Not cruel for the sake of it. Not interested in domination for pleasure. And somehow, that made him even more unnerving.

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, her voice cautious, controlled. She spoke like someone who knew how quickly the walls could close in. "I’m nothing but a weak human that lives in the castle."

She said it with conviction, as if speaking it would make it true, make her invisible.

But the king’s response wiped that illusion away in an instant.

"Really?" he said, turning his head to her at last. "You are the winner of the bloody tournament, are you not?"

His gaze was sharp now, fixed on her, reading her like a script. Harriet froze, her breath caught somewhere between pride and dread. Her mind raced.

They were far from the palace now, far enough that the air outside had changed. She looked through the small window beside her, noting how the streets had given way to uneven paths and scattered homes. The edges of the kingdom. A place she knew too well.

He’s taking me back to my village.

The realization hit like a gust of cold wind.

Her heart pounded. The words he’d said—"winner of the bloody tournament"—replayed in her mind.

’Is he trying to... is he saying he’s going to kill Aria?’ she thought, panic beginning to form at the edges of her thoughts.

’Or is he urging me to kill her faster too?’

The questions swirled, unspoken but loud in her silence. She didn’t ask them. She couldn’t.

The carriage came to a slow, rumbling halt.

She looked out.

The village.

She recognized it instantly. Despite the changes, the air, the terrain, the faint scent of cooked herbs in the distance—it was home.

Everything looked familiar but quieter, less vibrant than she remembered. The people were subdued, the streets not as lively as they once were. But that wasn’t uncommon. Her village had always ebbed and flowed with moods. Today was simply a quieter tide.

Harriet turned slightly toward King Jared as if to ask if he would come down too, but he cut her off before the words left her lips.

"I’ll stay close to the carriage," he said, gesturing with a light flick of his hand.

She didn’t need more encouragement.

Xeera had already opened the door and stood waiting. Harriet stepped out slowly, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud.

"We have to return before lunch," Xeera whispered as she looked around the quiet settlement, noting its modest appearance. She frowned slightly, realizing just how far Harriet’s family was from nobility.

Harriet said nothing, only nodded, her hood still pulled forward, hiding most of her face. Her heart pounded with a strange mixture of dread and warmth. Despite everything, a small smile touched her lips as she turned and began walking the path she knew better than any other.

People stared. Heads turned. Some whispered. But she ignored them.

She thought it was just curiosity—someone returning with a hidden face. Nothing more. How could she imagine otherwise?

Her eyes remained fixed on the house she knew best. Her pace quickened with every step.

Home.

She wanted to see her family. Her brother. Her mother. Her father.

Behind her, King Jared finally stepped down. He leaned against the carriage with the elegance of a man who had nothing to fear. The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows on his face as he tilted his head up.

He closed his eyes.

He expected to smell fruits, fresh earth, village food—the untouched simplicity of the outskirts.

Instead... he caught the faintest whiff of something else.

Blood.

His eyes opened.

And this time... they did not close again.