<h4>Chapter 112: Exchange of Words</h4>


    Aria didn’t feel well.


    Her body ached like it had been dragged through mud—heavy, broken, as though her limbs had been stitched back on with fraying thread and might fall off with the next breath she took. The dull pressure behind her eyes throbbed steadily, pulsing through her skull with the weight of a curse.


    Shey on her belly, face half-buried in her sheets, but the nausea refused to settle in her gut. It rose thick and slow, lodged behind her ribs and pressing against her chest like a stone. Her head pounded with a feverish rhythm that no potion could dull, no matter how many she had forced herself to swallow.


    It dragged on for what felt like hours. Each minute bled into the next, soaked in difort and the sharp sting of helplessness. Atst, her body gave out—crashing into sleep that wasn’t peaceful, just escape. She drifted off, ignoring everything around her, even the quiet figure of Rymora, who for once made no effort to speak. The girl remained curled in a corner of the room, her silence louder than words.


    Aria slept long, unmoving—until her eyes sprang open with a sudden start, zed and unfocused, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment shey still, dazed, wondering what had stirred her.


    Then she saw Rymora.


    The girl was standing right in front of her, worry etched deeply into her expression. She held a piece of paper in her hand, trembling slightly as she extended it forward. Aria squinted, rubbing at her eyes with both fists, the crust of sleep stinging at the edges as she tried to force herself into awareness.


    She took the paper. The ink swam for a moment before the words resolved:


    <strong>"The king has sent guards and a few maids. He has asked that you be moved to his room!!"</strong>


    The words struck like ice down her spine. Her expression tightened instantly into a sharp frown.


    Rymora’s face was pale, her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to speak but didn’t dare. Fear clung to her like a second skin. Aria could see it—could feel it. And that silence said everything she needed to hear.


    There was no point asking questions. No one argued with Zyren.


    If the king had given the order, then there was no room for hesitation.


    Without a single word, Aria pushed herself upright. Her joints protested, her limbs slow and heavy, but she moved regardless, a quiet storm brewing behind her tired eyes. Her expression was grim, slightly annoyed as she rose to her feet—just in time to see two young human maids approaching with careful steps and lowered gazes.


    "Rymora is enough," she snapped, voice low but cutting like a de drawn in the dark.


    The girls halted immediately, retreating with bows so deep they almost touched the floor. Aria hated it. That deference. That meek, practiced fear. It wasn’t respect—it was submission. It churned her already unsettled stomach.


    She was relieved to find the pain not as sharp as before, but the nausea lingered stubbornly, and her head throbbed still as she allowed herself to be bathed and dressed. Her fingers barely moved as Rymora handed her the clothes—another insult to modesty, short and skimpy, dyed in a shade of blue that made her jaw clench.


    She slipped it on without a word, offering not a drop of energy to the silk that clung too close to her skin, and strode toward the door.


    The rest of her things had already been packed—efficient and cold. There was no point dying. What waited for her was likely worse.


    But she had barely stepped into the hallway when her body stilled.


    Her expression twisted faintly into confusion as she caught sight of a group walking toward her from the opposite end of the corridor. Strangers, their faces unfamiliar—except for one.


    One she could never forget.


    The woman at the front moved with a confidence that froze the air itself. Aria had watched her before. Had seen her butcher men and women alike with a precision so cruel it lingered long after the blood had dried. That dark hair streaked with red—the color of spilled life—was seared into her memory.


    Her footsteps slowed. Aria didn’t know why she was here, and she didn’t care. As long as she passed without incident, that was all she wanted. No confrontation. No violence. Just space.


    But just as she thought it would pass, one of the maids trailing behind the deadly woman raised a hand—pointing. Right at her.


    Aria’s eyes narrowed. Her body stiffened.


    She watched, a frown pulling tight across her face, as the young woman broke away and strode straight toward her.


    For a second Aria held her breath. Harriet was close now, too close, and instead of passing, she dipped her head in a small but deliberate bow.


    <strong>"Lady Aria!"</strong> she greeted, voice warm, almost too pleasant.


    Aria’s face didn’t flinch. Her features settled into a mask of stone—nk and unreadable, wary beneath the surface.


    But politeness was a curse she hadn’t yet shed. So she returned the bow, even as Harriet’s smile deepened, bright and almost childlike.


    "I apologize for any inconvenience I might cause but I have been assigned the room you’re standing in front of!"


    The words struck like a p.


    Aria’s eyes widened, her chest tightening in disbelief. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, as Harriet continued, her voiceced with something new—a quiet, prideful edge.


    "You were poisoned! King Zyren announced it and postponed the match. Until then both of us have the right to be King Zyren’s pet and sit by his side. Until the winner is decided, I’ll be staying in the Castle until then!"


    Aria didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.


    Her face remained nk, numb. Not anger. Not sadness. Just silence.


    She gave a single nod and stepped aside


    She wanted no conversation. No proximity. She only wanted to be gone.


    Harriet looked so innocent. Big, wide, curious eyes. Youthful smile. But Aria had seen the truth. She had watched her kill.


    <i>No one that’s good could ever kill like that.</i>


    She turned to leave, quickening her pace. But Harriet’s voice followed her, sweet as poison.


    "I wish you a fast recovery, Lady Aria! The faster the winner is decided the better for both of us!"


    The words made her falter. Just barely. The smallest hitch in her step.


    But she didn’t turn. Didn’t look back.


    Of course she was angry. Of course the thought of crossing des with that girl filled her with fear.


    But worse than all of it—worse than Harriet—was what awaited her now.


    The king’s chambers! She had no idea what she would find there.