Chapter 260: Smart

It didn’t take too long before the carriage rolled past the heavy iron gates and up the wide gravel path leading to the castle. The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed as the wheels ground to a slow, deliberate stop.Aira stepped out first, her boots meeting the cobblestone with a soft tap, her cloak trailing faintly behind her as Rymora followed closely after. Both women hurried across the courtyard, skirts brushing against the cool night breeze that whispered through the archways.

From the number of carriages gathered near the gate, it was immediately obvious that the Werewolf delegation had arrived. Their banners—marked with the silver moon crest—stood in stark contrast to the dark crimson of Zyren’s. The mingling of guards—some with glinting fangs, others with sharp golden eyes—told Aira that dinner would be no simple affair. The realization tightened in her chest like a warning.

Dinner with the king was one thing; dinner with the Werewolf delegation meant politics, tension, and the need for absolute composure. Missing it would not only draw attention, something she already had enough of with the events of the night at the inn.

Most importantly, she couldn’t just appear before him or the visiting royals dressed in the simple white garments she’d worn all day. The soft white linen robe, though elegant in simplicity, marked her as a messenger of the temple—a position that often invited both reverence and disdain depending on who looked upon her. The faint stains of travel and dust along the hemline didn’t help her case either.

With a sigh that felt heavier than she intended, Aira gathered her skirts and hurried up the grand staircase. The castle’s marble floors reflected the warm glow of chandeliers, each step echoing faintly in the vast hall. Rymora followed silently behind her, her posture upright yet cautious, as though the walls themselves might be listening.

When they reached Aira’s chamber door, Rymora paused, choosing to stand guard by the entrance instead of following her in—an unspoken routine they had long since adopted. She would not enter until she was certain the king wasn’t inside.

Aira’s hand turned the golden doorknob gently, pushing the door open with quiet care. But the moment her gaze swept across the room, her body froze. Her eyes widened, the air catching in her throat.

Zyren was there.

Seated on the edge of her bed as though he had been waiting.

The room, bathed in the soft light of a single candelabrum, seemed smaller with him in it. The faint smell of sandalwood and iron filled the air—the distinct scent that clung to him wherever he went. His posture was relaxed, almost regal, one arm draped over his knee, his crimson eyes fixed on her in unnerving stillness.

For a moment, Aira forgot to breathe. The quiet between them stretched like a string pulled too tight.

She closed the door lightly behind her, her fingers trembling despite her attempt to appear composed. Turning back, she met his gaze directly, unwilling to look away even as her pulse began to race.

’Is he going to ask me where I’ve been?’ she wondered, her mind racing even as her face remained still and expressionless. She refused to let him see her uncertainty.

So she stood there, rooted in place, staring right back at him with a straight face, waiting for him to speak first. If he wanted to play the silent game, then she could too. Her patience, however, was thin. The longer his silence stretched, the more aware she became of every breath between them, every flicker of his eyes across her form.

And, infuriatingly, of how beautiful he was.

Zyren’s kind of beauty wasn’t the fragile sort. It was sharp, dangerous, and deliberate. The type that made men wary and women forget their reason. His dark hair fell loosely across his temples, framing the angular lines of his face. His eyes—those damned red eyes—glowed faintly under the light, holding an unreadable depth that made her feel both threatened and seen.

It was infuriating how effortlessly he looked like something divine.

Enough to make anyone mistake him for good, if they didn’t know better.

He didn’t speak, and Aira’s patience finally snapped. The quiet became unbearable. She turned abruptly, intending to walk straight into the bathroom and wash away both the dust from the temple and his gaze from her skin.

But before she could take another step, she felt the air shift.

In less than a heartbeat, Zyren was behind her.

The movement was so fast she barely registered it, even with her heightened senses. His presence loomed close—so close that when she inhaled, she could feel the warmth of his breath at the back of her neck. A shiver trailed down her spine.

There was barely any space left between them now.

"Is there something you need?" she finally asked, her voice steady despite the pulse hammering in her throat.

The werewolf delegation and their king had just arrived. There was no reason for him to be here hounding her—no reason to corner her like prey when his court was full of guests demanding his attention.

She turned to face him, regretting it instantly when his red eyes caught hers. They gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something else she didn’t want to name.

"You’ve been out," Zyren said smoothly, his voice low and unhurried. "Anything interesting happen?"

Aira froze. His tone was casual, but the weight behind it wasn’t.

She instantly understood—Zyren knew things. For all his seemingly careless demeanor as a ruler, he was no fool. His network of informants was vast, reaching into places even the temple might not suspect.

Even if the guards he assigned to her had followed, they wouldn’t have been able to track her inside the temple itself.

’Or is he talking about my mother?’ she wondered, the thought forming sharply in her mind as a slight frown touched her lips.

"Yes! You’ve heard about it?" she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral, though her eyes searched his face for clues. She wanted to see whether he meant the temple attack or simply the public knowledge of her mother’s enslavement to Duke Dangrey.

Zyren didn’t answer right away. Instead, his lips curled into a faint smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes. He studied her for a long moment, as though amused by her attempt to read him.

"The attack was quite gruesome," he said at last, his tone light but his gaze unyielding. "Clearly the Zygons are getting more out of control."

Her heart sank at the confirmation.

His smile shifted into a smirk, the kind that made her feel as though he saw through her entirely—and found it entertaining.

"I figure it’s only going to get worse," he added casually, leaning slightly closer. "It’s a pity you’re the only one who can identify the monsters with your abilities."

Aira’s brows furrowed instantly.

"You want me to help rid the castle of them?" she asked cautiously, though her tone held an edge.

Zyren’s lips curved into another smile, this one deceptively gentle—like a caress without touch.

"When have I ever asked you to do anything," he said quietly, his gaze trailing down over her body in a clearly lustful manner

"save for what you owe me as my pet?"

The deliberate weight in his words made her skin crawl.

And worse—he wasn’t wrong.

Every reminder of her position under him felt like a chain tightening around her throat.

"I’m sure the Werewolf delegation also has a problem," Zyren continued easily, as if he hadn’t just belittled her. "Hence the reason they’re here—to grovel for help."

Aira frowned deeper, the confusion breaking through her irritation.

"You want me to help them?" she asked, uncertain of his motive.

"No," Zyren said simply, his tone firm. "When have I ever cared about the werewolves?"

The sheer indifference in his eyes made it clear—he wasn’t lying.

Aira released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The hunter houses had warned her against healing anyone, but if Zyren ever commanded her to—or if she could use the opportunity to her advantage—she wouldn’t hesitate to go against the backstabbers.

She studied him quietly as the thought crossed her mind. Zyren seemed too calm, too detached.

’He doesn’t care about the Zygons,’ she thought. ’Nor about the werewolves. Honestly, I’m convinced he barely cares about vampires as long as they’re not wiped out entirely.’

Her eyes narrowed slightly. ’What then does he care about?’

Her thoughts halted when Zyren spoke again, his tone now shifting—lazy, almost conversational, but laced with something that stirred her anger.

"Duke Dangrey is a smart man," he began. "I heard he was the third son, yet he still managed to take the dukedom from his father even with the second son still alive."

Aira’s lips pressed tightly together.

"You’re telling me he’s cruel," she replied, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.

Zyren took a slow step toward the bathroom, his movements graceful and deliberate.

"The first son was killed by the second," he said with casual ease, reaching the door. "And he even helped him."

He turned back to her with a faint smirk as he pushed the door open.

"I’m saying he’s a smart man."

Aira walked forward, her chin raised high as she brushed past him. "Smart men can be foolish too," she said coldly, stepping into the bathroom, expecting him to leave.

But instead, she heard the sharp click of the door closing behind her.

Her body stiffened.

She turned sharply, eyes widening as she saw him standing there—his hand resting on the door handle, his gaze locked on her with quiet intensity. Slowly, he began to unbutton his black shirt, one clasp at a time, until he pulled it free from his shoulders.

"Yes," Zyren said softly, his voice echoing faintly against the tiled walls. "Not losing can also be a bad thing. Men like that start to think everything is chewable."

The words lingered in the air between them—dark, measured, and heavy.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor as he took off his shirt followed, and Aira could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, loud enough to drown out even her breath.

The flickering candlelight cast his shadow across the marble walls, stretching long and sharp, like the shape of something both beautiful and dangerous.

And she realized then, with an uneasy stillness, that Zyren was exactly that.

Something dangerous masquerading as beautiful.