Chapter 33: A Seat At the Table

For a moment, Zyren said nothing, and Aria was too worried to speak before he did. The silence between them stretched thin, pulsing with a tension she couldn’t name.

Her neck still throbbed where he had bitten her, the sting of the wound lingering like a cruel reminder.

But it wasn’t just pain that unsettled her—there was something else, something crawling beneath her skin, something hot and unnatural that she couldn’t shake off. A strange sensation that had no business being there. One she would rather bury deep and pretend didn’t exist.

More than anything, she wanted to be anywhere but here—perched on his lap, wearing clothes so thin they barely passed as covering. Each breath she took felt like it exposed more of her, and the weight of his gaze made her skin crawl.

"Sometime? ...And how long do you need?" he asked her finally, his voice calm—deceptively so. Aria felt the breath catch in her throat, because despite his collected tone, there was a fire simmering in his eyes as they dragged slowly down her body. A look that made her feel like prey pinned beneath a predator’s claws.

Aria leaned inward, curling into herself in a feeble attempt to hide, but the movement only earned her a flicker of amusement from Zyren. Her resistance didn’t anger him—it entertained him.

"A day? Two?" he offered, as though those were generous terms.

Her brows snapped up, lips parting in disbelief. Was he being serious? That was what he considered patience? A single day or two? It wasn’t a question—it was a warning. He had waited long enough, and now he was giving her a deadline.

What about never? she thought bitterly, a scream trapped behind her clenched teeth. She didn’t dare voice it. Instead, she shook her head, desperate, and moved to slide off his lap. But the effort was useless—his arms locked firmly around her waist, refusing to let her go.

She was still trapped.

Zyren leaned in closer, his face hovering just beneath her chin. His breath was warm and slow against her throat, and when he spoke, the deep vibrations from his voice rumbled against her neck like a growl restrained only by will.

"Tonight?" he whispered.

Aria tensed, panic rising so fast it nearly choked her. Her heart slammed in her chest, and this time she couldn’t stay quiet.

"No! At least a month!" she burst out, her voice cracking from sheer desperation.

She didn’t need to see his face to know she’d angered him. His silence, the subtle stillness of his body, the way his fingers twitched against her back—all of it made the air thicken around them. When she did look down, his eyes said it all. Cold. Final. No.

Aria felt her stomach sink. She had no idea what he saw in her that made him want to claim her like this. Her body? Her hatred? The fact that she didn’t want him? Was that what stirred him? Did her disgust excite him?

The thought made her sick.

She went quiet again, lips pressed tightly together as she remained frozen on his lap. Trapped. His gaze never wavered, and the longer it held her, the more the skin on her back prickled with unease.

Then his hand began to move.

At first, it was subtle—barely a shift. But then his fingers slid downward, toward the curve of her backside. Aria’s blood turned cold, especially when she noticed the sharp tension in his jaw, the faint strain in his muscles. He was holding himself back. But for how long?

Panic flared inside her chest.

"I—I’m hungry!" she stammered suddenly, her voice rising in pitch as she clung to the only distraction she could think of.

Zyren paused.

To her complete shock, he nodded. Without a word, he gently lifted her off his lap and placed her on the bed. Then he turned and walked toward the wardrobe, retrieving a shirt.

She watched him, confused. No servants? He was dressing himself? She hadn’t expected that. For someone like him—a vampire king—she thought there would be people waiting at every corner to dress him, feed him, worship him.

He dressed quickly and returned to her side, his eyes settling on her with quiet intensity. Aria had been trying to push the thought down all morning, but it spilled from her lips now before she could stop it.

"The collar... You can drink from me whenever you want," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the collar... it’s uncomfortable."

Zyren didn’t even blink. "Then I’ll get you a softer one."

The answer pierced her with fresh horror. Not freedom. Not removal. Just a softer leash.

He moved toward her again. Aria’s whole body tensed. All she wanted was to run—to dash out of the room and never look back—but instead, he picked her up, strong arms wrapping around her like iron.

Then, to her surprise, he reached for a thick coat and draped it around her shoulders.

"To keep you warm," he murmured.

The words stunned her. She blinked up at him, confused. What was this? Another mind game? An illusion of care?

Before she could process it, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside the door. The guards. Their voices rang out, greeting Zyren formally the moment he stepped into the corridor with Aria in his arms.

He didn’t respond to them. He didn’t need to. The guards simply fell into step behind him as he descended the stairs, headed for the dining hall. Aria remained quiet, glancing up at his face.

His mood had changed. She saw it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. The amusement from earlier was gone. Now there was only steel—cold and sharp. The shift was so sudden, it chilled her.

Something inside him had turned off. And whatever part of him had turned on instead... it terrified her.

I don’t care, she told herself fiercely. As long as he doesn’t touch me again.

But her thoughts had already wandered ahead, reaching toward something far more dangerous. She needed to explore the mansion. She needed to know what was hidden behind the walls. She needed information—something, anything—that could be used to destroy him.

He might carry her now. He might press her close. He might even touch her. But her heart? Her soul? Those were wrapped in ice. Her hatred hadn’t dulled—it had only sharpened.

You can use my body, she thought, as long as I have your head.

By the time they entered the grand dining hall, breakfast had already been served. The table stretched endlessly, laden with silver trays and carved fruits, meats still bleeding from the bone. Aria glanced around, ready to ask for a chair.

But then her breath caught.

Her gaze locked on the humans lined behind each vampire lord—collared, kneeling like shadows behind their masters. Their heads were bowed, their eyes downcast. Slaves.

She didn’t get a chance to move.

Zyren sat and pulled her back onto his lap without hesitation. He didn’t even look at her. A plate was placed before her at his command, but Aria wasn’t paying attention to the food.

Not anymore.

Her eyes widened in horror as she watched a vampire lord—the one with red-tipped hair—toss a plate onto the floor beside his collared slave.

"Eat," the lord ordered.

And the man did. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and began eating from the floor, using only his hands.

Aria couldn’t move. Her stomach twisted. The vampire pulled on the man’s chain, dragging him closer, and the slave only smiled—beamed, even—as though he had just been given a precious gift.

He wasn’t starving. Aria could see that. He was strong, clean. This wasn’t survival. It was obedience. Devotion.

And it made her sick.

She looked around the hall again. It was the same everywhere. Human slaves knelt at their masters’ feet, eating like dogs. Even Lady Vivian, poised and elegant, had a collared human licking scraps from a plate beside her throne-like chair.

Whatever hope Aria had of sitting beside Zyren vanished in an instant.

It’s a blessing I’m not already on the floor, she realized grimly.

As if sensing her horror, Zyren chuckled softly and wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. He handed her a spoon and a plate, and she took it with shaking hands.

The food was rich and flavorful—but she could hardly taste it.

She ate in silence, her eyes locked on her plate, trying to ignore the stares from every direction. Even the slaves glanced at her now and then, their expressions hollow or envious or both.

She told herself not to speak.

If she just stayed quiet, maybe she’d get through breakfast without incident.

But then the voice cut through the room, sharp and saccharine.

"My king," Lady Vivian called sweetly from two seats away, bowing her head with mock respect.

Zyren didn’t stop eating. "Yes, Lady Vivian," he replied, exasperation evident in his voice.

Aria didn’t dare look at his cup, knowing it was filled with blood. Even the meat on his plate looked barely cooked, red juices staining the silverware. She suddenly felt cold all over, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before.

"My apologies for disturbing your meal," Vivian said with a smile. "I only wished to ask whether your new pet would be participating in the Blood Tournaments."

The room went quiet.

Aria’s entire body tensed.

That smirk on Vivian’s lips. The cruel glint in her eyes. Aria felt every internal alarm go off.

"Disturbing the king with such a question!" Lord Virelle snapped from his end of the table, his red-tipped hair catching the light. "Of course she’ll participate! It’s a blood-long tradition!"

Aria’s head turned to Zyren in horror, desperate for reassurance.

He met her gaze.

Then nodded.

"Yes, she will," he said. "How else would she prove to everyone her worth?" And just like that, Aria felt her insides collapse.

She didn’t even know what a Blood Tournament was. But the name alone made her blood run cold.