CHAPTER 39: POISON

Aria had barely shut the door to her room when her rage exploded outward. Without hesitation, she marched toward the small table, grabbed a glass jar with trembling hands, and hurled it against the stone floor. It shattered instantly, shards skidding in every direction like a physical echo of her fury.

She was furious. Blinding, trembling, all-consuming anger welled up inside her, riding alongside the hot sting of tears that filled her eyes but refused to fall. At first, she had thought she could take things slowly—wait, observe, figure out Zyren’s weaknesses—but at that moment, logic had burned away. All she could think of was the humiliation, the shame, and the unbearable, violating gaze that had followed her every step.

Her chest heaved as her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one louder than the last. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides as she stood frozen, pulsing with emotion.

Behind her, Rymora entered the room. Her face was unreadable, as always. Silent, poised, and calm—too calm. She didn’t utter a word. She didn’t even move toward the table to pick up a paper.

"You’re not going to say you told me so?" Aria demanded, spinning around, her voice sharp with bitterness as she shot Rymora a glance. Her eyes were wild with emotion, daring her to answer.

But Rymora only shook her head, a brief, quiet gesture, before averting her gaze again. She remained by the door, unmoving.

In her silence, though, she was thinking to herself, ’Honestly, your problems are not as great as mine.’ Her own thoughts were burdened with the fresh memory of Lord Drekh’s recent message—summoning her to his manor. She had no choice but to go with no idea what she would meet there.

Aria tried to steady her breath. She forced herself to move, staggering toward the nearest chair before collapsing into it with a frustrated exhale. Her muscles ached from tension. Her jaw was locked so tightly it hurt. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rymora lift her hand briefly to gesture a request—asking if she could go down to the servants’ hall to eat. Aria waved her off, giving her silent permission.

The door closed softly behind Rymora.

Left alone in the quiet room, Aria looked down at herself and winced. She wore nothing but a thin, sleeveless white gown that clung to her skin like a second layer. The jeweled collar around her neck glittered mockingly in the lamplight, and the fine chain attached to it trailed across her shoulder, a weight she couldn’t escape. She shivered.

For a brief second, her eyes darted to the wardrobe. The temptation to disobey and head out back was overwhelming. But she hesitated. The image of Zyren’s expression as he ripped the last one off her flashed through her mind like a curse. He would know. He always knew.

"Ahhh!" she growled aloud, gripping her hair with both hands and slamming her forehead onto the table in frustration. The dull thud reverberated through the wood. Her nails scraped at the surface as she fought the urge to scream.

There was no way she could meet Clay like this. Not looking like a doll dressed for display. Not while stripped of her dignity.

Her body—how her hips were wider, her breasts fuller, her thighs far from slim. She’d never fit the mold of women like Lady Vivian, whose slender frame seemed tailor-made to attract attention even completely covered.

Aria felt exposed, seen, and it made her skin crawl.

I hate him, she seethed, eyes narrowing as she recalled Zyren’s smiling face—his amusement as he destroyed her coat in front of the entire table. Her fingers trembled as she stood abruptly.

There was no thinking, no plan, no hesitation. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with shaking hands.

Down the winding stairs and into the main corridor, she walked with purposeful speed. Her bare legs moved quickly beneath the sheer gown, and though her arms remained crossed in front of her chest, she could still feel the eyes—servants who bowed as she passed yet couldn’t seem to keep their gaze from lingering on her body. It made her want to claw at her skin.

Still, she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Rage blazed a trail ahead of her, and her fury only sharpened as she turned toward the medical wing.

She didn’t knock when she entered. The door slammed open, and her eyes immediately locked onto Bovan. He was seated in the main chair, looking far worse than she expected. His face was bruised in several places, one eye slightly swollen, and his lip was cut. His left arm was wrapped with a splint, and he moved it carefully—like it might snap again if handled wrong.

The moment she entered, Bovan jumped to his feet. His expression contorted with alarm, eyes darting around her as if expecting the devil himself to be trailing behind.

"Wha—what are you doing here?" he gasped, voice higher-pitched than usual, clearly rattled.

Aria didn’t flinch. She shut the door behind her and crossed the room slowly, eyes narrowing with faint satisfaction at his battered state. At least someone else had suffered recently.

"Why else? I came to speak with you," she said flatly, moving to sit.

But the moment she sat down, she caught it—his gaze. The subtle flicker in his eyes as they dropped to her chest, to her bare thighs. That single glance was enough to stoke the fire in her veins.

"You’re asking for another beating?" she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. She had no idea who had attacked him, but she wasn’t above pretending she’d been the one behind it.

To her surprise, Bovan straightened slightly, lips twitching with bitter pride. "Unless you’re here to continue our last session," he said, his voice grating with forced confidence, "I’d advise that you leave."

Aria’s eyes narrowed even further. "I need something," she said curtly. "Something—"

But before she could finish, a knock interrupted them. A young healer, dressed in the white robes of the infirmary, poked her head through the door.

"Healer Bovan! An urgent patient needs you!"

Bovan bolted upright as though she’d just given him a lifeline. He didn’t even look back at Aria before rushing toward the door.

"I’ll be here waiting," she said coolly, even as he hesitated for a moment, casting her a suspicious glance before disappearing down the hallway.

The door shut. A second passed.

Two... One.

Aria shot to her feet like lightning. She moved fast, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her eyes scanned the room, flying over every surface, every shelf.

She didn’t have a plan, but that didn’t matter anymore.

"Poison... poison..." she muttered under her breath, her fingers flinging open drawers and slamming them shut again. Her body trembled as she scoured the room, eyes darting until they landed on a glass cabinet behind his chair—one labeled Fragile.

She rushed toward it, shoving the glass aside. Inside, nestled on a middle shelf, were vials marked with red ink and faint handwritten notes. Her eyes caught the word: Poison. Dangerous. Untested.

Perfect.

Her hand didn’t hesitate. She snatched two vials, her breath coming in quick bursts, and found a third empty container on the shelf nearby. Hands trembling, she fumbled through a cloth and tied it around her mouth before mixing the two poisons together in the vial.

Still not enough.

She scoured the cabinet again until her eyes landed on a dark container—labeled with a crude symbol that immediately sent her heart racing. It was a compound her father had spoken of more than once. A rare black powder with properties similar to silver—devastating to vampires if ingested.

She grabbed it. With fingers slick with sweat, she added it to the mix, watching the colors swirl into a thick, shimmering substance. The moment she sealed the vial, she began returning the containers to their places with calculated precision.

Footsteps echoed.

Her heart jumped.

She tore the cloth off her face and moved to the door, slipping the poisoned vial behind her back. Just as she reached for the handle, it burst open. Bovan returned, breath short, face more annoyed than concerned.

Aria didn’t let him speak.

"I’m tired of waiting for you," she snapped, stepping past him with a glare. "I don’t even know why I came!"

She brushed past him, not slowing until she was well down the hall, her chest rising and falling rapidly—not from exertion but adrenaline. Her fingers clutched the vial now hidden in the hollow between her breasts.

When she finally made it back to her room, she exhaled shakily. Rymora was still gone.

Quickly, Aria retrieved the vial and placed it on the table. The liquid inside shimmered with ominous beauty—speckled, strange, and potent. Her eyes locked onto it, and a twisted sense of satisfaction spread through her chest.

’Fate is clearly on my side!’ she gushed.

More than half of it was the black silver powder. She didn’t care how strong Zyren was—no vampire could survive ingesting this.

"The only problem now," she whispered, her voice low and cold, "is how exactly I’m going to make sure he swallows it."

Her fists curled so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

Still, her mind was made up.

Before the end of dinner... Zyren would be dead.