Surrendered To The Lord Of Sin-Chapter 47: In the midst of the Vales

"Good to know you’ve relished the idea of me," Vaeron said in a voice that made her flinch. It was dark, terrifying, and utterly soulless, carrying no edge of mockery.

At his comment, the Nameless King’s lips twitched in response. "Oh," he said, lifting one jeweled hand and flicking the air as though brushing aside smoke. "You flatter yourself," His rings clinked softly as he leaned back. "Although, I must confess, remembering you was far more pleasant when I believed you were buried."

Lucrezia inhaled sharply at the acidity of his words.

A second passed before his voice sliced the stillness in the hall, "How unfortunate for both of us, then."

The Nameless King barked a laugh. It was so deep and thunderous as his vast belly shook beneath the weight of his robes. "Still so joyless," He said. "I’d hoped marriage had softened you,"

Lucrezia felt the word land like a stone dropped into deep water and her breath hitched in response.

Her eyes traveled to the creature beside him, noticing the coldness emanating from that angle.

He did not look at her. Those hazel eyes were fixed beyond them, filled with mystery that was better off unknown, and coldness that could bite through one’s skin, leaving scars too difficult to fade.

She felt her heart race when he opened his mouth to speak. "Your hope is misplaced," Vaeron said quietly. "I am no gentler."

The smile on the Nameless King’s face never faltered, and if anything, it deepened. "Ah. Practical as ever," His gaze slid toward Lucrezia again, and her skin reacted the same way it did when those eyes took her frame. "Let me see the face of the Punishment who fell prey in the eyes of a Sin,"

Lucrezia forgot how to breathe, noticing every expectant gaze on her. She’d hoped to avoid the attention she was receiving no matter how thin the possibility may be. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

One of the women seated at the far end before him leaned forward slightly. It was the silver-haired woman as her eyes lingered on her with something akin to an unsettling curiosity that almost made her knees buckle.

Lucrezia stood frozen between them with a pounding heart, feeling like a misplaced piece on a board she did not know how to read. She sensed the tension not as raised voices or threats, but as something far worse than familiarity.

Her eyes drifted to the creature beside her. He remained still and was impossible to read as the neutral calm of his face gave nothing away but stillness.

Her heart thudded unevenly, each beat louder than the last. For a long moment, she simply breathed. In, out. In, out. She let the sound steady her, little by little, until her trembling fingers unclenched.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she raised her head. Her eyes swept over the hall, meeting the Nameless King’s gaze for the first time.

Those eyes were filled with so much mischief that they made her recall those of her father’s. It was the type that was cruel, evil, manipulative, and unpredictable that seemed to flicker with hidden intentions.

Lucrezia felt a shiver run down her spine. The weight of them pressed on her chest, and for a fleeting moment, she almost imagined she could hear the subtle click of a trap snapping shut. She had seen power before, yes, but never so sharp, so alive, so hungry for reaction.

And yet... she could not look away from the eyes that promised danger and demanded she face them. Her expression was careful, calculated to match the woman she was pretending to be, but inside, she still felt utterly raw, exposed, and uncertain.

Lucrezia was more than certain that if she remained this way, she wouldn’t survive the intimidation.

Lord Vaeron did not look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the Nameless King, as cold and unyielding as ever, but somehow the weight of his presence gave her courage.

The Nameless King’s smile faltered just slightly when her eyes met his, and the hall remained hushed, waiting for what he might do next. She could feel their gaze rake her entire body, so hot she could hardly breathe.

She swallowed, steadying herself against the pounding of her own pulse. She could not let them see her fear. She couldn’t let them notice anything odd from whatever description they must have gathered. She couldn’t let them, even for a slight moment, be suspicious, no matter how the intimidation almost made her cower.

"Lady Anastasia Bathory," he siphoned the name in a manner that brought goosebumps on her skin, and she felt in her spine before she understood the title. "So the rumors are true. The Lord of Dreadwyn betrothed to the werewolf Princess of Veximoor. Have I heard wrong or were you the least person considered interested in a marriage covenant,"

Vaeron’s eyes hardened when he said, "Your assumptions are irrelevant. I am not interested in your definitions, your expectations, or your proclamations. That is what this marriage is all about—an arrangement. Nothing more,"

Lucrezia felt the bite in his words and she forced herself to control the rate of her heartbeat, but the pressure in the hall thickened, pressing against her lungs.

Before the strain could sharpen, a soft voice interrupted unhurriedly, echoing in the dimly lit hall. "I hear you’ve been dwelling in the mortal’s land for over two centuries," The golden-haired said, moving slightly against her seat as she started.

Lucrezia sighed in relief at the drastic change of conversation. She could feel the weight on her shoulders loosen a bit, only to stiffen when the words settled clearly.

Two centuries?! She thought.

The golden-haired woman’s tone was measured, almost conversational, yet every word landed with intent when she continued. "You were far from banners, councils, and reach. Long enough that men began to whisper that you’d fled, and enough you’re called ’Vaeron’," There was an obvious amusement in her voice when she concluded, staring at him with an intensity that felt colder than judgment. "Might I ask?"

"Vael," A soft voice cut her off with ease. For the first time, the silver-haired spoke, shooting a look at the golden-haired who merely shrugged it off with a small smile.

Now she was closer, Lucrezia caught her side profile. Her features were delicate but precise, as if carved from porcelain, with high cheekbones that caught the dim light and lips curved with natural grace.

Then she turned to Vaeron. "Do forgive her. Vael has the kindest intention,"

Lucrezia didn’t fail to notice the way her eyes softened unguardedly like the warmth one reserves for the one they love. Her chest tightened as she watched the silver-haired’s rare softness for Vaeron, and a bitter twist of envy curled through her like ice.

Her pupils dilated in shock. No, no, no, no.

Finally, "Good to know I’ve been missed," He retorted blandly, feigning ignorance of the silver-haired woman.

The woman called Vael looked at him, regarding him carefully. "You trade too far," she responded, matching his indifference. "It left questions that define you weak. The Vales couldn’t hold onto your silence any longer since you vanished without farewell or a decree. Two centuries beyond reach, beyond summons, until now."

Lucrezia felt her attention sharpen at the admission, settling with more weight than it should have. She kept her expression carefully neutral, though her mind moved quickly, filing away every detail and implication. This was not idle history, but it was leverage, and she knew better than to miss it.

Vaeron’s gaze lifted deliberately until it settled on the woman who had spoken. For a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched in his control, as if he were deciding how much truth the room was worthy of. "I did not flee," he replied. "I left."

A quiet stir moved through the hall at his words, and Lucrezia felt the brewing tension from a small distance. It earned some displeased murmurs, as the head inclined in their direction.

Vael raised her chin slightly before saying, "And yet you ignored every call sent after you and every council convened in your name. You allowed silence to speak for you,"

Vaeron remained unfazed by the sudden reaction in the hall. "My silence was not permission," he emphasized. "It was a refusal,"

The Nameless King gave a soft, delighted sound that echoed. "Still so particular with your distinctions."

Vaeron did not look at him and continued. "I’m certain you’ve not summoned me because you wished to hear my reasons, but because you ran out of alternatives,"

Vael’s expression cooled, but she never faltered at his apathy. "You presume much,"

"I presume necessity," Vaeron answered almost immediately. "You would not drag me back into this hall for sentiment,"

Something in her eyes was fierce. "So you stand here by summons alone with no allegiance nor apology after centuries of your absence,"

It barely came as a question but a statement. The distaste in her voice didn’t go unnoticed in Lucrezia’s ears.

Vaeron’s voice lowered as he said, "I stand here because you demanded it. What happens next depends entirely on whether you called me to judge me, or to use me."

The Nameless King’s smile widened, sharp and entertained. "How I’ve missed this," he began, then waved a hand as though reconsidering. "Vaeloria, our guests have only just arrived. It would be unkind to drag them straight into old grievances,"

Vaeloria said nothing and leaned back carefully with an authority that couldn’t be questioned. Just like her father, those eyes held unparalleled amusement, especially when they landed on hers.

Lucrezia’s back straightened.

"Let us dine, shall we?"

***

Lucrezia was escorted from the great hall in a ceremony, with guards flanking her on either side. Lord Vaeron had already departed, leaving her in the company of unfamiliar faces and watchful eyes.

The corridors stretched long and winding ahead of her, swallowing her footsteps as she walked. The walls rose high on either side, built from the same dark stone as the ones she’d seen.

Lucrezia was guided through the palace corridors in measured silence, the guards’ steps falling in steady rhythm beside her own. Torches lined the walls as their low flames cast long, wavering shadows across the stone.

The air grew cooler as they moved farther from the great hall, heavy with incense and age. They passed beneath high arches and through narrow passages until at last the corridor widened and their pace slowed.

The guards halted before a pair of tall doors of blackened oak reinforced with iron bands. Without ceremony, one of them pushed the doors open, revealing her chambers beyond.

It was an effort to stop the small gasp that tore her throat. Lucrezia was welcomed to a vast and empty room, with a ceiling arched high overhead, supported by exposed stone ribs. Tall, narrow windows lined one wall, filled with thick panes of smoked glass that filtered the outside light into a perpetual twilight. And beyond them, only shadow and the suggestion of distant spires could be seen.

The furnishings were few, but exquisite. A massive bed resembled ancient craftsmanship. It stood at the center of the chamber, framed from dark wood inlaid with pale bone. Heavy curtains of deep charcoal and muted silver hung from iron rods. The linens were layered with soft furs beneath finely woven sheets, neither lavish nor sparse.

Along the far wall stood a hearth large enough to sit within. A low steady fire burned there already, offering warmth without smoke.

There was no vanity of gold or indulgence meant to distract. Everything in the chamber spoke of permanence—of something meant to outlast its occupant.

Lucrezia stepped inside slowly as the door closed behind her. She removed her cloak and set it carefully aside, lingering her fingers on the fabric to ground herself against the silence that pressed in.

She had only just begun to take it in when a soft knock sounded.

Lucrezia turned. "Come in," she said, quieter than she intended.

The door opened, and a woman entered. She was young—perhaps only a few years older than Lucrezia herself—with rich brown skin marked by the same sigils etched in pale ink she’d seen the rest, and faint scarification that traced her collarbone, shoulders, and arms. The symbols were intricate, precise, and unmistakably sacred rather than ornamental.

Her clothing was simple in cut but clung closely, fashioned from sheer layered fabric that revealed the markings without displaying vulgarity. She moved with practiced grace and head bowed just enough to be respectful. But despite her station, there was something undeniably ethereal about her presence.

There was something ethereal about everybody here, she thought.

"My Lady," She lowered her head in respect. "I’ve been assigned to help you prepare for the occasion tonight,"