Chapter 33. Planning Murder

Chapter 33. Planning Murder


His lips tilted into a grin as he reached across, stole a piece of turkey from his own plate, cut it, and held it out to me on his fork. “Open.”

The room stilled.

Dua’s brows flicked up, a smirk curling her lips like she was savoring the spectacle. Verlin tried to hide his grin behind his drink. Vanya just shook her head, muttering something I couldn’t catch.

My chest hammered. I could feel everyone watching.

“Zorak—” I started.

“Open, Nolie,” he repeated, his voice thicker this time. A command.

The fork hovered inches from my lips.

I parted them slowly, heat racing down my neck, and he slipped the bite inside like it was nothing. Like feeding me at a crowded table was the most natural, possessive thing in the world.

The silence that followed was heavy. Almost suffocating.

Verlin leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink lazily before he spoke. “Well, since we’re all in the mood for entertainment—” his voice carried that heavy drawl, the one that made you pay attention  “there’s a little show happening in town tonight.”

Zorak didn’t look up, still cutting into his turkey. “Show?”

“Mm.” Verlin grinned. “Bull-Fighting. The square’s plastered with posters, couldn’t miss ’em. Bright red ink, Veltrano crest stamped bold across the top. They’ve even got a slogan — ‘Strength, loyalty, family.’” He snorted. “Family my ass. That’s a cover if I ever saw one.”

Vanya rolled her eyes, reaching for her sweet potatoes. “Since when do you read posters? You can’t even sit still long enough to read your own handwriting.”

“Didn’t have to read much,” Verlin shot back smoothly. “Poster was nailed on every lamppost between here and the bridge. Hard to ignore when half the town’s buzzing about it. Kids shouting, women buying ribbons, even the drunks sober enough to bet on it.” He leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “And when the Veltranos make noise that loud? It’s never just about cows.”

Dua tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think everything’s about business.”

“Because it always is,” Verlin said flatly. “And guess who’s hosting tonight? Arjoina Veltrano herself. With her puppet husband dangling on her arm like he still matters. Oh, and of course…” He chuckled darkly. “…your favorite, Reggio. The idiot brother.”

The name slithered into the room like smoke.

Zorak’s knife froze mid-cut. My chest tightened.

Vanya muttered, “Perfect,” under her breath, stabbing her cornbread like it had offended her.

But my pulse was already roaring in my ears. My chair scraped back, loud, jarring, cutting through the silence.

“I’m going,” I blurted, my voice shaking but firm.

Zorak set his fork down slow. Too slow. The clink against the plate was louder than it should’ve been. His jaw ticked.

“You’re not going anywhere near that devil.” His voice was flat, final.

I met his stare head-on. My hands were shaking but I didn’t look away. “Yes, I am.”

Zorak’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m joking? You won’t take a step out that door.”

“Then I’ll go without you.” My voice cracked, but I forced it louder. “She can’t keep sending me threats like I’m still that weak girl. I need her to see me. To know I’m not the one they left sleeping in the rain.”

Vanya shifted uneasily. Verlin glanced between us, smirking but quiet. Dua just sipped her wine, like this was theater.

The words kept spilling, too fast to stop. “Do you know what they made me do? If a single hair fell from Sylvesso’s head, I had to pick it up before it touched the ground. If his sheets were dirty from whatever whore he brought in—” my throat locked, but I pushed through, “—I had to wash them. That was my payment. Payment for not being the one under him.”

My nails dug into my palms. My chest burned. “And you know what? I preferred it. I preferred scrubbing his filth off cotton than ever letting his rotten dick touch me.”

The room went dead silent.

Zorak’s chair creaked as he leaned back, studying me like I’d just torn the skin off my own chest and showed him the bones. His lips curled—not in disgust, not in pity. In something darker.

“You want to walk into Arjoina’s square with that fire in you?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes.”

He let the silence stretch until it hurt. Then, almost casually, he speared another piece of meat, chewed, swallowed.

“Then I’ll have to suspend my slaughter.”

The table stilled. Verlin’s mouth curved like he was about to crack a joke—then froze, the grin strangled before it could live. Even he knew Zorak wasn’t bluffing.

I blinked at him. “What?”

Zorak leaned forward, elbows on the table, knife gleaming in his fist like it belonged there. His eyes locked on mine. “I had a message planned for tonight. A warning. The kind of night men tell their sons about.” 

He dragged the knife across his plate, slow. “But if my bride insists on walking into the lion’s den, then the lions get to live a little longer.”

He smirked, sharp as a blade. “Guess their lucky stars are winning today.”

Dua leaned in, her smile all teeth. “Mm. Been too long since I’ve had blood on my hands beside yours. Don’t keep me waiting, Zorak.” Her eyes flicked toward me, glinting. “Though I doubt your little bride’s ready to get hers dirty.”

And just like that, he cut another bite of turkey like he hadn’t just confessed to planning murder.