Chapter 15: Strip

Aria wasn’t angry about having to sit on the floor. Under normal circumstances, she was fully aware she shouldn’t even be present in the hall—much less be allowed to listen to a discussion between vampire lords. The mere fact she was still breathing in their presence felt like an anomaly in itself. Still, as she sat quietly beside the towering throne, her gaze subtly shifted toward the gathering of powerful figures below. Four lords—three men and one woman. Just as her eyes began to study them, her focus sharpened. Something about their tone drew her attention more intently. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she focused on the conversations between them. "I am sure the hunt went well and you got rid of them all Your Highness!" Lord Noctare’s voice broke the silence with a thin, eager smile stretched across his lips. He was the same one who had first spoken earlier, and now his translucent red eyes flicked meaningfully toward Aria. "I imagine she pricked your interest, which is why you brought her!" he added, voice lilting with suggestion. But before she could gauge Zyren’s reaction, another voice sliced the air—sharper, colder. "Does that matter?" came the biting tone of the lord who had stared at her with the most disgust. His eyes were narrowed, hard with disdain. His dark hair was dyed blood-red at the tips, a flame-like detail that made him look even more hostile. "Clearly, with her red hair, she belongs to a hunter bloodline!" Lord Virelle snapped. He didn’t say the words outright, but his meaning was plain. He wanted her dead—discarded like filth. To him, she wasn’t a guest or even a prisoner. She was a stain that needed to be erased. "You make it seem like our opinion matters," came another voice, deep and thunderous. Lord Drekh, the largest among them, spoke with calm detachment, though his tone carried weight like boulders rolling downhill. He barely spared Aria a glance before turning his heavy gaze toward the last member of their circle—a woman. She was striking. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders like ink, and she wore a light blue gown so thin and revealing it clearly wasn’t designed for battle. It was elegantly tailored for temptation. Aria found herself caught between fascination and a faint sense of repulsion. Even as she wondered how someone could wear something like, showing so much skin the woman’s voice came—a silky, sultry note that drifted through the air like perfume, smooth and sweet, but never once did she look in Aria’s direction. "We need to send more men to the borders," she said, her voice laced with boredom and irritation. "The forest monsters are becoming more erratic and attacking people; humans mostly" Aria’s brows lifted in surprise. Was Lord Lythari advocating for humans? The idea startled her—until the woman continued, shattering any illusion of compassion. "The last thing we want is for our main food source to dwindle more than usual." "They keep leaving the forest, and the damage they are causing is more than usual," she pointed out in the same detached tone, her eyes lazily scanning the room. "It wouldn’t surprise me if the Werebeasts were the ones pushing them toward our lands," Lord Drekh added, his massive form shifting slightly. His voice was a low growl, as heavy as his frame. We’ve done it before, he thought darkly. There’s no reason they can’t. The dark forest was the only true boundary dividing their realms, after all. The conversation drifted onward. Each lord voiced their opinions and suspicions, but their words eventually tapered off. It became clear to all of them—and to Aria—that this wasn’t a true council. They could advise, yes. But ultimately, it would be Zyren who decided. A thick silence descended upon the hall, heavy and expectant. Zyren sat with one arm resting on the throne’s edge, his fingers curled near his chin. He had listened quietly all this time, unreadable. Then he finally moved. His mouth parted slightly—just as everyone leaned forward, anticipating his verdict. But his words were not for the lords. His gaze dropped to Aria. And she immediately tensed. "STRIP!" he commanded, his voice cutting across the grand hall like a whip. Aria’s heart nearly stopped. Her mouth fell open, stunned to silence. For a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. "You stink," he continued bluntly, his tone now laced with clear irritation. "Take off your clothes." There was no doubt—whatever displeasure she’d seen earlier in his eyes was dangerously close to turning into open fury. His gaze bore into her, relentless and scathing. The entire hall fell into a vacuum of silence. Though Aria focused on Zyren with wide, horrified eyes, she couldn’t ignore the others. The lords, the guards—each corner of the vast hall was filled with eyes, and every single one of them was now on her. Her pulse pounded in her skull. She felt like the air had thinned, her lungs straining just to draw breath. Her mouth opened, desperate, and a trembling voice escaped her lips. "Bu-but I don’t have any clothes to—" She didn’t even finish the sentence. The look in his eyes changed again, a flicker of something darker twisting across his face. "Have you forgotten your place?" he asked. The words were quieter this time, yet the threat in them was far more potent. Each syllable was a step toward danger, as if she were walking the edge of a cliff. The silence in the hall thickened with anticipation. Some guards looked visibly stunned. The fact that she had even spoken at all seemed to shock them—as if they expected her to be broken already. Aria lowered her eyes, not wanting to glare at him. Her teeth clenched together so hard her jaw ached. Her shaking fingers moved to the collar of her dress, hesitating just once before starting to unfasten the buttons. She had barely undone the third when Zyren’s glare sharpened, his eyes silently warning her to move faster—or he would do it for her. I can lie, she thought desperately, panic creeping up her throat. I can say it’s a red day— But she swallowed the words. Even if she said them, what if he demanded proof? What if he didn’t care? The humiliation would only grow worse. Her hands moved again, slower this time, her face burning as she peeled the dress from her body. She stopped once she stood in her undergarments, trembling. "That too," Zyren’s voice came, deeper than before—unchanging, unmoved by her fear. Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled over the hem of her undergarments, unwilling—unable—to go any further. Her lips parted to protest. But Zyren was already speaking again—this time to a guard behind her. "If she speaks again..." he said, his voice booming across the entire hall, each word like a nail being driven into wood, "cut out her tongue." The silence afterward was deafening.