CHAPTER 37: GET US KILLED...

Aria had just stepped into the room, her breathing uneven from the brisk pace. Rymora followed closely behind, slamming the door shut with a loud thud that echoed against the walls. Aria didn’t hesitate. She turned, already unfastening her coat as she began to speak while peeling off her clothes with practiced speed.

"I know... I know... I should have left earlier!" she said breathlessly, her voice sharp with frustration but not directed at anyone in particular. The sense of urgency was clear—lunch had already started, and she didn’t have time to waste.

Rymora didn’t respond—not verbally. She moved quickly to the table, snatching up a fresh piece of paper, her hands trembling as if barely holding back the words trapped behind her silence. Her mouth opened and closed, her jaw tight, as though the effort to remain mute was physically painful. Still, she kept her composure and scribbled with swift, angry strokes before thrusting the note toward Aria.

"Clay is someone you don’t want to associate yourself with! He doesn’t care about anyone but himself! He chases different women and—"

Aria’s eyes scanned the first few lines before she abruptly stopped reading. Her jaw tensed. She lifted her head and looked directly at Rymora, shaking her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

"I already know about the rumors. He told me himself," Aria said, voice calm but firm. "Just because women chase after him doesn’t mean he chases after them."

She tossed the coat over the chair, the motion a bit rougher than necessary, and began unwrapping the black cloth tightly bound around her chest and waist. She didn’t bother hiding her body as she crossed into the bathroom. Her bare feet slapped softly against the stone floor, the sound strangely loud in the heavy silence.

Rymora didn’t stop. She followed, paper and pen in hand, continuing to scribble even as Aria climbed into the tub and started scrubbing herself down. She made no move to take the next note, ignoring it entirely.

That didn’t deter Rymora. She stepped forward and firmly planted the page right in front of Aria’s face.

"Meeting him again is dangerous! You just got here! Moreover, you can’t be sure of his intentions. What if he gets bribed by someone?"

The words hit home. Aria froze for a moment, her hand tightening around the washcloth. The reminder of what had happened with the doctor—a betrayal she had shared with Rymora in confidence—was like a slap.

A deep frown crept onto Aria’s face. She snatched the cloth and held it out sharply toward Rymora without a word, her glare clear enough. The message was received. The conversation was over. Rymora hesitated but finally took the cloth, backing off to resume her role.

Of course Aria didn’t trust Clay. She wasn’t naïve. But that didn’t mean she had to avoid him like a plague. There was a difference between caution and isolation, and she hated how boxed-in she already felt.

When she finished bathing, she stepped out of the tub briskly, not bothering to look at Rymora as the maid held out a white gown. The material was soft, finer than anything she’d worn before, but it barely reached her mid-thighs. Aria took it with a sigh and pulled it over her damp skin, the thin fabric clinging slightly as she moved.

She turned to grab the thick coat she’d worn earlier but barely got her fingers on it before Rymora tossed a different coat into her arms—one that was long but utterly transparent.

Aria stared at it in disbelief.

"No," she said flatly, her eyes narrowing at the flimsy thing that dared to call itself a coat. It was long, yes, but see-through to a laughable degree.

Rymora was already scribbling again, her frustration clear in her stiff shoulders and the speed of her writing. She shoved the note into Aria’s hands the second she finished.

"King Zyren is a Vampire! A strong one! He’s going to know where you’ve been!"

"In the garden! Where else?" Aria snapped, her voice rising slightly as she tossed the transparent coat aside and yanked her previous one back on. It wasn’t elegant or proper, but it covered her and that was all she cared about. She wrapped it tightly around herself, tying the belt with a rough jerk.

Will I change outfits morning, afternoon, and night just to keep him pacified? she thought, her scowl deepening as she stomped toward the door.

Rymora was still scribbling something, clearly not done, but dropped the effort halfway through and hurried after Aria. She had no choice. A bad feeling twisted in her gut like a knot being pulled tighter.

She’s going to get herself—and me—killed, she thought bitterly.

By the time they arrived at the food hall and stepped inside, it was clear they were the last ones. Everyone else was already seated, and worse, no one had begun eating.

That fact alone made Aria’s blood run cold.

Every eye turned toward her the moment she walked in. The silence was thick and stifling, broken only by the soft clink of silverware being set down and chairs shifting.

Zyren sat at the head of the table, completely still. His crimson eyes locked onto her the second she entered, and the sly curve of his lips was almost worse than a shout.

"Little flame..." he said, his voice soft and slow, yet every syllable seemed to echo through the room. The nickname, that damnable name he used only for her, made her spine go rigid.

Aria trembled slightly despite herself.

Behind her, Rymora didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees immediately and slipped toward the wall, kneeling in the far corner beside the door. She blended into the stone, making herself as small and invisible as possible.

"...You’re late. We’ve been waiting for you," Zyren said, his tone still light but layered with something sharper. Aria bowed low, her head nearly touching the floor as she moved closer to his seat.

She hadn’t even spoken when Zyren tapped his thigh, eyes still fixed on her with unwavering focus.

She understood.

Normally, she would have asked for permission not to sit there. Would have tried to keep some distance. But the weight of every gaze in the hall—especially the lords and nobles whose anger simmered just beneath the surface—pushed her to obey without a word.

She climbed onto Zyren’s lap and sat stiffly, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly together.

"So obedient," Zyren murmured, pleased, his fingers brushing her side before he picked up his fork.

Only then did the room return to motion. The subtle tension that had strung everyone tight eased slightly, and the sound of utensils resumed. Servants and maids moved in sync, delivering plates and pouring drinks. The slaves on the floor remained silent, eating whatever their masters offered, but even they were dressed in fine materials—skimpy, yes, but no less expensive than what the nobility wore.

The strange hierarchy was unmistakable.

Aria received her meal and began to eat slowly, silently. For a moment, she thought she might survive lunch without another disaster.

Until Zyren spoke again, his voice low, meant for her but loud enough for every vampire in the hall to hear.

"You walked around the mansion?" he asked.

His tone hadn’t changed—still gentle, almost affectionate. But Aria knew him too well. The softness was a lie.

A tightness bloomed in her chest. The salmon she was chewing suddenly tasted dry, the texture grainy against her tongue. She swallowed and forced a nod.

"Yes, King Zyren," she said quietly, carefully measured.

But even before she looked up, she knew, and deep down, she could already feel it

This question was only just beginning.