CHAPTER 23: PAIN OR PLEASURE

"A-A potion will be enough! I don’t need to go with him!" Aria said, her voice trembling with an almost pleading edge. A few sharp gasps echoed around the table, and she caught the shocked expressions flashing across the faces of the nobles seated there.

"I-I’m really not that sick!" she insisted, pressing her hands together tightly in her lap.

Across the table, Aria recognized a few lords—staring at her with open disbelief—and even Lady Vivian, who was glowering at her with a look that could have stripped flesh from bone.

The sheer surprise etched into their faces was jarring enough, but what unsettled her even more was how Zyren merely tilted his head toward the healer, his voice low and calm.

"A potion would be enough?" he asked, almost musingly.

"I’m afraid not, my king," Bovan said, bowing even deeper than before. Aria had to summon every shred of willpower not to glare daggers at him.

"It may be far more serious than it appears. Humans, especially females, are fragile creatures," Bovan said smoothly, almost with pity. "After such a long journey, it would be safer to ensure she’s properly treated."

Aria felt the argument slipping from her fingers even before Zyren made his move. Without a word, Zyren stabbed a fork into a glistening piece of warm chicken on his plate, raising it slowly toward her mouth.

She blinked, startled by the unexpected gesture, before cautiously parting her lips to take a bite. The flavor hit her instantly—rich, tender, and unbelievably fragrant. She chewed mechanically, mind spinning.

I didn’t even know vampires ate human food, she thought faintly, even as Zyren’s voice, deep and smooth, washed over her.

"Her condition doesn’t seem that bad. She’s eating well enough," he remarked dryly, casting a cool glance at Bovan.

"Indeed, my lord," Bovan agreed with a slight, knowing smile. "It is shocking to see her enjoy chicken... marinated in blood meant for vampires."

The words struck her like a slap.

Aria froze, her mind fumbling to process it. The blood—the sauce—it wasn’t just wine or spices. It was human blood.

A wave of nausea tore through her, overwhelming and brutal. Gasping, she clamped a hand over her mouth, bile rising thickly in her throat.

"Ahh! I suppose I spoke too soon," Bovan said lightly, almost amused, just as Aria lost the battle. She twisted aside and vomited onto the polished floor.

Before the bile even hit the ground, maids were rushing forward, already moving with mechanical precision, as if they had expected it. Bovan was suddenly beside her too, offering false support as he steadied her like a prized, fragile doll.

"My King! In a few days, she’ll be much improved," Bovan declared confidently.

Zyren merely nodded once, expression unreadable.

And then everything happened too fast.

Before Aria could speak—before she could think—she was wrenched away by Bovan’s iron grip. She barely had time to gasp as he dragged her through winding hallways, her wrist burning from how tightly he clutched her.

By the time they reached a part of the mansion she didn’t recognize, Aria was shoved into a large, cold room.

"Bind her to the bed," Bovan commanded.

The guards moved swiftly, ignoring her protests, and in seconds thick ropes pinned her arms and legs securely to the wooden frame. The heavy door slammed shut behind them.

Aria strained against the restraints, rage and fear pounding in her veins as she snapped, "Are you insane? I’m not

sick!"

Bovan merely chuckled, settling lazily into the only chair in the room, completely unfazed.

"Really?" he mused, tilting his head mockingly. "You’re the one who told the King that, remember?"

Aria glared at him, her chest heaving, refusing to be cowed even as a knot of dread twisted in her gut.

"What do you want?" she demanded, voice cold.

Bovan’s response was a low, humorless laugh. His shoulders shook with amusement, and he wiped a theatrical tear from the corner of his eye.

"Let me enlighten you," he said, his tone dripping with dark amusement. "There were sixteen humans before you. All of them started with physical ailments... before their minds eventually crumbled."

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "King Zyren probably believes he’s saving you from the inevitable."

Aria didn’t care. She yanked against the ropes again, baring her teeth in a snarl.

"You can’t hurt me," she spat. "Zyren will have your head."

The threat only made Bovan grin wider, an ugly, gleeful thing.

"I’m a healer, dear girl," he said, voice lilting dangerously. "There are a thousand ways to make you scream and break you without ever laying a harmful hand on you."

He rose from the chair, stepping closer until she could see every gleam of cruelty in his dark eyes.

Aria’s clothes had ridden up in the struggle, but bound as she was, she couldn’t even adjust them. He noticed—but thankfully, he made no move to touch her.

Still, his presence was oppressive enough to make her blood run cold.

"I can speak to Zyren," she said quickly, grasping at any lifeline. "I can get you whatever you want."

Bovan leaned down, his breath brushing her ear.

"But I already have," he whispered, voice thick with wicked satisfaction. "Lady Vivian and Lord Virelle saw to that."

A violent shiver racked her body, and for the first time since being thrown in the room, true terror flooded Aria’s heart.

**********

Savira had been stunned when the summons came.

As a vampire healer, her days were typically slow—vampires rarely got sick unless poisoned by werewolves or gravely wounded by hunters.

Still, she smoothed her dark gown and composed herself as she was led into the King’s receiving chamber.

The room was pitch black, but for creatures like her, darkness was no hindrance. She dropped instantly to her knees.

"You summoned me, my king," she said, head bowed low, keeping her voice steady.

She heard him rise, the soft creak of leather as he moved. When she lifted her eyes, Zyren was standing by a towering shelf, a heavy book in his hand.

"Yes, Savira," he said, flipping through the ancient pages without looking up.

"I’ve been reading about Heatbloods. There’s something I want clarified," Zyren said, his voice a low rumble.

Savira kept her face neutral despite her confusion. The very idea of Heatbloods was archaic—nothing but the dust of legend in these times.

"Of course, my lord," she answered smoothly. "Even centuries ago, humans capable of bonding with vampires were incredibly rare. They were revered because the bond could grant great power to both sides."

Zyren turned a page with an almost delicate motion, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"...And remind me," he said, his tone chilling in its casualness. "How was the bloodline awakened?"

Savira swallowed once, discreetly.

"Through intense emotions, my lord," she said carefully. "Pain... or pleasure. Both could serve."

She wisely left unsaid that such occurrences were relics of the past, not something that could never be a reality.