CHAPTER 138: HE’S A FRIEND

"I grew them myself, so you don’t have to worry! I’ve also eaten many of—" Clay was still trying to reassure her when Aria gently shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"No, don’t worry about it," she said with a quiet laugh. "I’m confident you’re not trying to poison me."

There was a sincerity in her voice that made Clay’s grin stretch wider. She moved as if to crouch beside him but stopped herself just in time, remembering how easily scents lingered—especially when she hadn’t yet bathed. No matter how harmless the interaction, she couldn’t afford to carry Clay’s scent back to Zyren’s quarters.

So, she chose instead to remain standing.

Clay didn’t seem to mind. He launched straight into an animated explanation about the flowers he tended and the tree he planned to prune next. He spoke with passionate ease, pointing out fruits growing on the trees and promising to set some aside for her.

Aria smiled at the offer, her eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation.

The conversation was... pleasant. Peaceful. Equal in a way that reminded her of the world before her capture. Clay didn’t look at her like an object or speak to her like a possession. He wasn’t a predator—at least, not in the way Zyren was.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

Zyren was a storm—his very presence suffocating, overwhelming, always pushing against her until she was braced to fall. But Clay... Clay was a breath of fresh air. A gentle breeze she didn’t want to shut the window on.

She wanted to inch closer. To laugh a little louder. To lose herself in his warmth just a bit longer.

But the sharp press of Rymora’s foot against the back of her heel for the second time jarred her out of the moment. It wasn’t subtle this time—it was deliberate.

Clay was just about to show her how to plant nursery seeds when Aria stopped him with a small, apologetic shake of her head.

"I have to go," she said, her voice regretful. "There’s still a lot I need to get done today."

Clay stood to his full height, brushing dirt from his knees. A soft smile touched his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that knew it had lost something.

"Hopefully you’ll remember to visit this time," he said, teasing but quietly sad.

Aria nodded and turned away, Rymora close behind. But not before Rymora threw a cold glare at Clay over her shoulder—a look that might have been comical on her soft, innocent face if it weren’t so serious.

Her brows pinched, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in a way that said I’m watching you, before she disappeared with Aria into the distance.

They had barely rounded the corner when Clay, who had remained perfectly still, slowly licked his lips.

Gone was the light, angelic glow from earlier. His eyes darkened, his smile twisted. He looked down the path they had vanished through, and cruelty laced every corner of his face.

"The maid would be even more tasty," he muttered under his breath, low and giddy.

He didn’t dare say it aloud—but the thought vibrated in him like a secret waiting to burst. His tongue slithered back behind his lips as he crouched down, feigning interest in the plants, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

’The whole race is depending on me,’ he reminded himself. And oh, how that thought thrilled him.

The pouch he’d given Aria?

He hadn’t lied.

He had grown the seeds himself.

Inside of him.

He chuckled darkly under his breath, the sound low and vibrating like something feral. His body trembled with excitement as he imagined the seeds taking root inside her. One by one. Quietly. Sweetly.

Most important of all?

What would happen if she mated with Zyren.

The thought alone made his mouth water. His tongue darted out again as saliva dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off quickly, bending lower to hide the mess, his eyes wild and crazed.

The game had only just begun.

Back in the room, Aria pulled off her coat and dress the moment she stepped inside. Rymora followed, carefully picking up the discarded clothes, but Aria’s voice stopped her.

"You can put the pouch he gave me in the drawer," she said offhandedly as she walked toward the bathroom.

But before she could disappear inside, she caught Rymora shaking her head. The gesture was firm—no hesitation.

"What?" Aria asked sharply. "Why are you shaking your head?"

Rymora didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picked up parchment and pen and scribbled quickly, the scratches loud in the quiet room. She turned the sheet to face Aria the moment she finished.

"This is Zyren’s room. You can’t leave any traces of Clay here. And more importantly, you’re not sick."

Aria’s nostrils flared.

"Clay is my friend!" she snapped, irritation rising. "It’s already enough that I have to strip and scrub my skin like I touched a rat. I’m not going to toss away something he gave me out of kindness!"

But Rymora was already writing again, ignoring the outburst.

"Do you not remember what Zyren called you the last time he smelled Clay on you?"

The words stabbed. Aria froze.

She did remember.

Aira’s hands clenched at her sides, her chest rising and falling.

"Know your place," she said sharply.

The room went still.

Rymora didn’t flinch. She simply held Aria’s gaze, expression unreadable—but her eyes spoke volumes.

I thought you were just a slave. That’s what you told Clay, isn’t it?

Aria turned her back, seething. "So what? I have to toss everything he gave me?" she demanded. "Zyren won’t even perceive it—it’s just a small pouch of sweet seeds!"

She hesitated, then added, "Even if he does, I’m sure—"

But she didn’t finish. Rymora scribbled furiously now, her letters jagged and huge.

"Are you really willing to take that chance?"

The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Aria’s shoulders tensed. Her fingers twitched.

She wasn’t.

She knew she wasn’t.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Toss the seeds."

She stomped toward the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and didn’t call Rymora to assist her—making it very clear she didn’t want to see her again, at least for the rest of that hour.