It had been a while since Aria had seen Clay’s handso face and sharp, familiar features—sothing she hadn’t realized she missed until this mont. The afternoon light filtered softly through the trees, brushing gold along the lines of his cheekbones as he bowed his head politely to her, his hair falling forward just enough to shadow his eyes.
"Really! You might as well kneel while you’re at it!" she said with a teasing tone, her voice carrying a light lilt that made Clay’s lips curve into an easy, boyish smile as he straightened up again.
His posture was neat, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his hands dusted faintly with earth—clear signs of soone who had been working hard under the sun.
"You’re in charge of the garden today?" Aria asked, folding her hands neatly in front of her as her curious gaze lingered on the dirt stains near his collar.
Clay nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brown pouch tied neatly with a thin leather string. He held it out to her with a soft, almost proud grin.
"Yes! I’ve been planting so fruits that need extra care," he said warmly before adding, "There are blueberries in there. I thought you’d like them."
The faint scent of crushed leaves and ripe fruit wafted up from the bag as Aria accepted it, her smile broad and genuine. It wasn’t often soone brought her sothing so simple—so normal—and she appreciated the gesture far more than she let on.
"You’ve been working hard," she remarked, her tone softening slightly as she admired the care with which he had gathered the berries. Clay seed just as pleased that she accepted them, his excitent bubbling through in the way his eyes seed to brighten.
"You could take a bite and see if it’s to your liking," he urged, his voice holding a strange note of insistence. It wasn’t unusual for him to be eager for her approval, but this ti there was sothing different—sothing subtle and sharp in the way he watched her.
Still, Aria thought nothing of it. She opened the pouch, the faint sweetness of ripe fruit eting her senses, and picked one out, about to lift it to her lips when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind her.
Startled, she turned, only to see Rymora. The girl’s skin was pale, her expression uneasy as she approached quickly, her movents clipped and deliberate. The instant Aria saw her face—drawn, anxious—she knew sothing was wrong.
Rymora didn’t say a word, but her eyes t Aria’s, the silent exchange between them enough to make Aria’s heart tighten in her chest. She quickly closed the pouch and turned back to Clay with an apologetic smile.
"We’ll have to et another ti," Aria said lightly, though there was a faint edge to her tone.
Clay hesitated but then nodded, his expression composed. "Of course, my lady," he replied smoothly.
Aria turned and began walking away, Rymora following close behind, her pace brisk, her face still set in that severe, troubled expression.
Clay stood unmoving in the bright sunlight after they left, his smile fading. Slowly, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as his polite composure broke.
’Affecting her is turning out to be harder than I thought,’ he thought bitterly, his gaze dropping to the pouch she had taken with her.
He had rushed to the garden the mont he heard she would be there. The timing had been perfect—or so he thought. But now, irritation flared through him like a heat wave under his skin.
He couldn’t afford another failure. The leader of his tribe had already begun to grow impatient, and although Clay was valuable, he was not irreplaceable.
Lady Vivian’s influence had waned in the court, and with her losing favor, their side needed new eyes and ears inside the coming eting between the werewolves and vampires. Aria had been his perfect opportunity—a chance to secure influence where others had failed.
’Unless she eats it... or gives it to her maid,’ he thought darkly, ’I can’t think of a better plan.’
His jaw clenched as he sank down onto the ground beneath the shade of a nearby tree. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and damp leaves as he shut his eyes, focusing inward to draw upon the natural energy surrounding him.
The energy within his core stirred sluggishly—weak, unstable. He needed more, but flesh was forbidden. So he settled for the ager trickle he could gather from the soil and the sunlight, breathing deeply as frustration gnawed at him from the inside.
"What’s wrong?" Aria asked the mont they were out of sight and earshot of anyone else. Her brow furrowed as she studied Rymora’s face, noting the faint tremor in her hands and the uneasy way she kept glancing behind them.
Rymora swallowed, her voice low and tight. "You were in the garden, so I went back to wait for you at the entrance of your room. But while I was waiting... I didn’t expect the King to arrive."
The way she said it—shaky, breathless—made Aria’s chest tighten.
"He asked to enter the room," Rymora continued, her tone carrying the disbelief she still felt.
Aria froze in place, turning sharply to face her. "He asked you to enter?" she repeated, her eyes widening slightly.
Rymora nodded quickly, her expression pale and serious. "Yes. He asked how I was, and I answered politely, thinking that was it. But then—" She hesitated, her throat tightening as she replayed the mont in her mind. "Then he said I should do sothing about my sll. That it was getting stronger."
Aria’s heart gave a painful thud. The aning of those words was imdiate and terrifying.
"He knows who you are," Aria whispered, her voice barely audible.
Rymora’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly as if she’d been struck. "He knows who I am," she repeated under her breath, as if saying it aloud might make it less real.
The two won fell into a tense silence. The air between them seed to thicken, heavy with unspoken dread.
After a few monts, Rymora found her voice again. "You knew?" she asked softly. "He just asked to leave afterward. Nothing else."
Aria exhaled slowly, trying to think clearly. "Don’t worry. You’re fine for now," she said, though her voice was strained. "But if he ntioned your scent, you need to mask it imdiately. Do you know how?"
"I can use perfus," Rymora said quickly, her tone firming as she tried to regain composure. "It should at least confuse anyone who tries to sense it."
"Good," Aria said, resuming her pace. Her mind raced with thoughts she dared not speak aloud as they ascended the staircase toward her chambers.
They hadn’t gone far when one of the guards appeared at the top of the stairs, bowing briefly before addressing her. "My lady, the King has called for a eting in the throne room. You are the only one invited."
Aria’s stomach turned at that, but she gave a polite nod. "Very well," she said, her tone composed though her pulse quickened beneath her calm exterior.
Rymora followed behind, her face tightening with concern. She knew she would have to wait outside the doors—and after what had just happened, the last thing she wanted was to co face-to-face with Zyren again.
As they reached the grand double doors, Aria adjusted the black coat draped over her crimson gown. The fabric shimred faintly as she walked, the coat swaying behind her like a dark wave.
When the guards pulled the doors open, the sound of low voices and echoing footsteps filled the vast hall. Aria entered, her gaze sweeping the room in a asured glance.
She was, as usual, the last to arrive.
A round table had been placed in the center of the throne hall this ti—a rare sight. The three werewolf lords sat together on one side, their large fras tense and watchful, while the four vampire lords occupied the opposite side, elegant and still as carved stone.
At the head of the table sat King Jared and Queen Clara, positioned deliberately in the middle as a symbol of neutrality. And opposite them—on a raised seat with that familiar air of quiet command—was King Zyren.
The mont she entered, his eyes lifted to hers. The faintest smile touched his lips, cold and unreadable, before he gestured lightly to the empty seat beside him.
"Co," he said, his tone soft but carrying enough weight to silence the few murmurs in the room.
Aria hesitated only a heartbeat before obeying, her expression neutral as she crossed the room and took the seat beside him. His gaze lingered on her for a mont longer than necessary, his hand resting idly on the table, close enough for her to sense the faint hum of his presence.
The smile he wore wasn’t comforting. If anything, it only deepened her wariness.
She adjusted her chair, the wooden legs scraping lightly against the marble floor, and pulled herself closer to the table just as King Jared began to speak.
His tone was calm and deliberate, his eyes fixed directly on Zyren with a level, asured intensity.
And though Aria had heard rumors from Clara, about Jared’s interest in her there was nothing in his expression now that hinted at it. His focus was entirely elsewhere.
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