CHAPTER 69: EAVESDROPPING

Vivian didn’t walk out of the room so much as she stormed out, her heeled boots striking the floor in clipped, angry steps. The heavy door slammed shut behind her with a force that made the walls tremble slightly, the echo lingering in the room like a war drum still reverberating. But before she disappeared, she turned and shot Aria a final, smoldering look—a glare filled with pure, venomous revenge.

It wasn’t just hatred in her eyes; it was a vow. The kind of vow that promised Aria would scream. She would beg. She would bleed. And Vivian would be there to watch, to ensure she didn’t die until she was utterly broken.

The silence that followed her exit was sharp, a suffocating contrast to the rage she’d left behind. Left alone with Bovan, Aria swallowed thickly and looked up at the healer. He hadn’t moved yet, just stood by the door watching her with a bored, exasperated expression on his face—as if tending to her was a burden he was already tired of carrying.

His voice came out low, muttered under his breath, but not soft enough for her to miss it. "If you want to die, why can’t you find some quiet place and just do it?"

The words stung more than she wanted to admit, and her brows drew together in wounded disbelief.

"...I can give you something that would aid you," he added, as though he were offering her a cup of water and not a poison to end her life.

Aria stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. The offer sent a jolt through her chest—surprise, horror... and temptation. It was shocking how quickly her mind went there, considering the option. Her thoughts drifted: if she couldn’t kill Zyren, what was the point of existing? He would keep using her, punishing her, warping her mind and body until she no longer recognized herself. Maybe Bovan’s offer wasn’t cruel... maybe it was mercy.

"You would do that... if I asked?" she asked slowly, her voice smaller now, drained of the fire that had burned so bright during Vivian’s visit. She sounded tired, hollow—like a girl clinging to the last threads of strength.

"Of course," Bovan said, his voice sharp and matter-of-fact. "As long as I find someone to take the fall for it, and it means you’ll no longer be my problem."

He moved without waiting for a reply, lowering himself to the floor and unfolding a thick cloth he had brought. From within it, he carefully began placing vials, glass containers that glinted with colored liquids, a small bone knife, and folded pieces of clean white linen.

As he leaned forward to inspect her leg, Aria instinctively flinched away. But his fingers were already on her ankle, and the moment he touched it, pain exploded through her body.

It was searing. White-hot. Like something had sliced open her nerves and poured acid inside. Her head fell back as her teeth clenched, her jaw trembling violently. She could barely breathe.

Bovan didn’t pause. His fingers pressed and prodded, manipulating her swollen flesh with impersonal efficiency. It felt like knives stabbing into her repeatedly, and every time she thought it couldn’t get worse, he found a new angle to torment her.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. She didn’t even realize she was crying at first, but the wetness on her cheeks mixed with the salt of sweat. Her groans started soft, but they grew louder, hoarser, until she was whimpering like a wounded animal.

Still, he didn’t stop.

"Please," she gasped, trying to shove his hands away. "Stop! Just stop!"

But he ignored her, silent and focused as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Her fists, weak with pain and frustration, pounded against his shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. The strikes meant nothing to him.

Just as she thought she’d pass out from the torment, he finally pulled back. Her leg throbbed with every heartbeat, but the initial stabbing agony had dulled slightly.

"Good news," Bovan said dryly, wiping his hands with a cloth. "It’s not broken."

Aria blinked at him through a haze of tears, the edges of her vision blurred. She wiped her face with the hem of the oversized coat she still wore, her one free hand trembling from the effort.

"It’s pretty sprained though," he continued, his tone flat. "You can’t put any pressure on it for at least a week. I massaged the tissues and muscles—that should relieve some of the pain."

And strangely, she realized he was right. The relentless agony had eased somewhat. Her leg still hurt, but it no longer felt like someone was driving spikes through her bones. She flexed her fingers, still sore from hitting him, and slowly looked up.

Bovan was now repacking his supplies, tucking each vial and cloth back into the wrap with practiced ease. His expression remained unreadable.

"I’m surprised you stood against Lady Vivian," Aria said suddenly, her voice laced with suspicion as she narrowed her gaze on him. "Aren’t you under her pay?"

He snorted and shook his head. "She paid for a job, which I delivered. I’m under no one’s pay."

Her expression shifted into a bitter sneer, not believing him for a second. But he kept talking.

"I didn’t stand against her. I just followed the king’s instructions," he added pointedly, noticing the complicated look that crossed her face. "I wasn’t trying to help you either. Your time here is limited, and you have no money"

The bluntness of it made her shoulders stiffen. "I have jewels," she snapped, offended.

"...Jewels that belong to the king?" he replied without turning around. "Every part of you belongs to him."

Aria bit her tongue, rage boiling in her throat. She didn’t respond, didn’t want to. She simply sat there on the floor, her back to the wall, not even attempting to crawl to the bed. Her leg still pulsed with phantom pain, and the trauma of it made her afraid to move.

Bovan made it to the door and reached for the handle, but paused. He turned back to look at her, and his gaze lingered on her for a moment, thoughtful.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "If you please him, you can have everything you want. You won’t ever lack for—"

"I want his head," Aria snapped, her voice suddenly fierce again, though her cheeks were still wet with tears.

Bovan blinked, visibly startled by her ferocity. She met his eyes, unflinching.

"He killed my family," she said through gritted teeth, each word a dagger. "I want his head. Can he give me that?"

He didn’t answer at first, his face unreadable as he studied her. Then he spoke, softer this time, but with no pity.

"You can fight... but the king will still take what he wants from you. Painfully."

Aria didn’t flinch. "He can try."

But even as the defiant words left her mouth, the door suddenly burst open with a loud crack. Bovan jumped back in shock, nearly stumbling, his hand had been on the door.

Aria’s breath caught in her throat, her blood turning to ice as her eyes lifted to see who it was.

Zyren.

He walked in like the world belonged to him, every step deliberate, radiating that terrifying calm that made it clear he was in control. His dark cloak billowed slightly behind him, the fine embroidery at his shoulders catching the dim light. His eyes—those cursed, commanding red eyes—locked directly onto her.

And his voice came, low and chilling, full of deadly promise, saying words that showed that he had listened to their conversation.

"Try? I intend to."