CHAPTER 71: THE AUCTION

Aria wasn’t surprised when, just moments later, the door to her room creaked open again.

But this time, there was no tension in her shoulders, no fear crawling up her spine—because she instantly knew who it was. The way the door was shut softly. The faint, near-silent steps that followed were careful and measured, but familiar.

Rymora.

Aria turned her head slightly to confirm it, and sure enough, her maid stood there in the doorway, her expression morphing into one of stunned disbelief the second her eyes landed on Aria.

It wasn’t just the chains attached to the iron cuffs clasped around Aria’s wrist and bound to the wall behind her.

Nor was it just the thick white bandage wrapped around her right ankle, visibly tight from where it looped around the swollen flesh. It was the whole scene: Aria, half-slumped on the bed, her hair in wild disarray, the skirt of her gown wrinkled and tugged out of place in a way that made it clear someone else had handled her. Her feet and arms bore faint smudges of dirt, as though she’d been dragged across the forest floor.

Rymora’s breath caught as she took it all in.

Aria stared at her maid’s face—only to frown slightly at the sight of faint purplish bruises shadowing Rymora’s lips. Evidence of pain that hadn’t quite healed. Aria’s lips parted, but Rymora was already moving forward.

Not wasting a second, the maid rushed to the desk. With silent, practiced hands, she picked up a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill into ink, scribbling quickly. Once finished, she turned to Aria and passed her the note with urgency etched into her gaze.

"What happened to you?" the message read, the words written in a hurried, uneven scrawl. Her hand trembled slightly as she gestured toward Aria’s leg, then the chains, then her dirt-smeared arms.

Aria lowered her eyes, clearly unwilling to recount the grim and humiliating details, especially not when Zyren hadn’t said a word about what he’d told or allowed others to know. With a tired, bitter look, she pressed her lips together and scrawled a quick response.

"It’s a long story." She wrote it flatly, handing the note back.

Rymora frowned, her brows furrowed deeply. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room again and quickly scribbled another note.

"You pissed Zyren off."

It wasn’t a question. It was a conclusion.

As soon as she passed it back to Aria, she pointed with exaggerated emphasis at the injured leg, writing again with bolder strokes:

"That’s the only way! Look at your leg!"

Her face was tight with worry and frustration. But Aria merely waved the paper away, folding it in her hand until it became a small square, a quiet gesture of finality. The intensity in Rymora’s expression didn’t ease. She was glaring now, clearly worried and suspicious, but she said nothing more.

"I don’t know where and I don’t care," Aria added coolly, crossing her arms despite her chained state and leaning slightly back against the headboard.

She watched with no small measure of detachment as Rymora turned toward the wardrobe and began scanning the dresses, flipping through with increasingly anxious hands.

Her maid’s internal panic was barely masked. If Aria had pushed the King far enough to earn a broken leg, what else could he do? Rymora swallowed tightly, anxiety written in every movement. If Zyren was in a foul enough mood, he could punish her, too. Just for being associated.

She pulled out a black, gleaming dress with thin straps and a slightly sheer overlay and laid it down on the bed, smoothing the fabric out. Aria scowled at the sight of it but didn’t say anything—her hands were still folded around the paper, crumpling its edges.

Rymora scribbled again and passed the note over.

"If it’s in the evening, you can wear a coat."

Practical, if nothing else.

Aria let out a long sigh before flopping back on the mattress with audible exhaustion. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, her red hair splaying out behind her like a halo of fire.

"He breaks my leg, then forces me to go out with him," she muttered bitterly. "He’s clearly a madman."

Rymora’s lips tightened into a flat line, pretending not to hear the comment, her hands busy arranging accessories nearby. But Aria wasn’t finished.

"What happened to your lips?" she asked suddenly, her tone losing some of its edge as her eyes narrowed, focusing on the bruises again.

Rymora stilled for a moment, then slowly shook her head. She offered no note this time, making it clear with that simple motion that she wouldn’t speak of it. Whatever had happened, she either feared retribution or considered it too humiliating to recount.

The silence stretched, broken only when lunch arrived—an entire silver tray wheeled in by servants, who bowed and left wordlessly. Aria eyed it warily. It felt more like a necessity due to her immobility than a gesture of care. Still, she ate. Slowly. Mechanically.

Time moved quickly after that. More quickly than she wanted.

After a short, dreamless nap, the sky had already shifted to soft twilight hues. Evening was approaching.

Aria forced herself upright, grimacing as she maneuvered her bandaged leg, and Rymora helped her bathe and dress. They kept conversation to a minimum. She let her hair dry before brushing it until it fell in smooth, glossy waves down her back.

She slipped into the black dress with a look of resigned contempt, even as Rymora tightened the bodice and adjusted the straps. The neckline dipped more than Aria liked—especially for a night out with a man she despised.

To finish, she pulled on a long, dark coat, heavy and velvet-lined. It covered most of her body and concealed the dress beneath. But before anything else, Aria leaned close to the table and snatched a small knife from among the cutlery she hadn’t touched earlier.

She tucked it into the inner lining of her coat, near her ribcage.

If push comes to shove, I’ll stab myself, she thought grimly, her pulse slow but steady. If I bleed, he won’t be able to do whatever twisted thing he’s planning.

Minutes passed.

A knock sounded at the door, and both women stiffened. Rymora began to bow, assuming it was Zyren himself, but Aria scoffed, lifting her chin and shaking her head.

"Don’t bother," she muttered. "Just open it."

Rymora obeyed, moving to the door and pulling it open to reveal a tall guard clad in crisp black uniform who stepped in. In his arms, he carried a long box and something that looked like a white walking cane.

"His Highness commands that you wear it and meet him outside," the guard said with a tone that left no room for argument as he undid Aria’s chains and moved to leave.

Aria’s eyes narrowed. She already knew what was inside. Still, she popped open the lid.

Sure enough—it was a collar.

A brand new one. Silver-white with delicate gems embedded all around the circumference, sparkling brighter than the last. The jewels she had stripped from the previous one were replaced—tenfold.

Even Rymora leaned closer, her eyes wide, unable to conceal the flicker of awe and envy that crossed her expression.

Aria scowled.

With pursed lips and a quiet sense of dread, she allowed Rymora to help her clasp it around her neck. It was snug. Heavy. Flashy.

The cane helped. Once she took it in hand, Aria found that walking became more manageable. It eased the weight on her ankle, though every step still ached. She moved slowly, but steadily, toward the grand entrance of the mansion.

When she stepped outside, she froze.

Three carriages were lined up—massive, ornate things with gold-edged doors and velvet cushions that could be glimpsed through the windows. Each carriage gleamed beneath the lantern-lit sky.

Guards stood along the path in pairs, forming a corridor of armored silence. Aria approached, breath held, until she reached the final carriage.

The door opened before she could touch it.

Zyren sat inside, resplendent in a gold outfit embroidered with intricate black designs. It shimmered in the low light, making him look almost otherworldly. Aria’s eyes widened in surprise. Gold was not his usual choice.

He reached out a hand.

She said nothing. Expression tight, she climbed in, settling across from him—only for his arm to immediately snake around her waist and pull her into his lap.

"We’re going to an auction," he announced, his voice low and indulgent.

He leaned forward slightly, inhaling deeply as though savoring her scent, and smiled—satisfied.

"I’m sure you’ll like it," he added with a look that made her skin crawl. "There’s someone I know you’ll be interested in."