Chapter 567

[ 1,085 words ]

[Third Person].

Another deep sigh left her lips. Straightening slightly, she called inward, ” Valmora.”

The response came slowly, like a presence rising from deep water. “I’m here.”

“Do you think I went too far with the poison tactic?” Meredith asked quietly.

“No,” Valmora replied without hesitation. ” If I were in your place, I would carry it out. Not pretend.”

Meredith wasn’t surprised. Valmora’s hatred of Xamira was raw and unhidden.

“Now, I want to know something,” she said calmly. “Why are you always so… cold when it comes to dealing with people?”

A long, heavy silence followed. For a moment, Meredith wondered if Valmora would refuse to answer. Then her wolf’s voice came again, lower than before.

“Did you forget so soon how Serena died? I clearly told you.”

Meredith stiffened slightly. “Yes, you did. You told me you were poisoned,”

“Yes, ” Valmora acknowledged. ” We were poisoned.” There was a small pause before she continued. ” We underestimated our enemies.”

Meredith leaned back against the table, listening.

“I thought they would challenge us openly like before,” Valmora went on. ” Declare war. Meet me on the battlefield. I was prepared for all that.”

Just then, her presence darkened with memory. ” I did not expect them to stoop so low.”

“How?” Meredith asked softly. “How was it done?”

“They poisoned the water,” Valmora answered. ” A stream along a route they knew I would take.”

The image unfolded vividly in Meredith’s mind.

“They knew I was too strong for them to be ambushed directly,”

Her words sharpened.

“Serena and most of our soldiers drank from that stream. They died without ever raising a weapon.”

Meredith’s chest tightened. “They hated you because you were a woman,” she said quietly, understanding dawning fully now.

“Yes,” Valmora replied. ” A woman who wielded power they believed belonged only to men.”

Meredith closed her eyes. Now she truly did understand why Valmora trusted nothing, why she believed mercy was weakness, and why she would rather strike first than risk betrayal.

“I don’t blame you anymore,” Meredith said softly.

Valmora said nothing, but for the first time, the silence did not feel hostile.

Meredith opened her eyes and looked back at the pot on her worktable, at the medicine she was preparing, at the path she was choosing—walking the thin line between fear and compassion, between darkness and restraint.

She straightened, her resolve settling firmly back into place. Villain or not, she would decide how this story unfolded.

A long while later, when the herbal mixture had finally cooled down a bit, Meredith moved again.

She poured a small portion into a narrow glass bottle and sealed it carefully, setting it aside. The rest, she carried to her bedroom.

Steam curled faintly as she poured the liquid into the bathtub, the scent of crushed roots and leaves filling the air. She added cool water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. Then she stripped and stepped in.

The medicinal bath seeped into her skin almost immediately—warming, cleansing, coaxing tension from her muscles and opening her pores. Meredith leaned back, eyes closed, letting the weight of the morning dissolve for a full half hour.

When the time passed, she drained the tub, refilled it with fresh water, and washed her body thoroughly until the herbal scent faded from her skin. Only then did she wrap herself in a robe and return to the bedroom.

The bed welcomed her like a trap. She lay down, and sleep took her instantly.

—

When Meredith woke again, the light outside had softened into evening hues.

She blinked, momentarily disoriented, then realized she had slept straight through lunch. Her stomach stirred, but she wasn’t bothered. She could already smell the aroma of food in the room.

Sitting up, she glanced toward the sitting area only to see Draven there. He was sitting comfortably with one ankle resting over his knee, and a chicken drumstick held loosely in one hand.

His gaze was fixed on her—unapologetic, mildly amused. Then slowly, the corner of his lips curved upward.

“And just how long were you planning to sleep?” he asked.

Meredith stared at him for half a second, then it clicked. “You did that on purpose,” she said flatly.

Draven’s smile widened just a touch.

She growled—soft, instinctive, unmistakably wolfish—and swung her legs off the bed. Without ceremony, she crossed the room and dropped down beside him on the sofa, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.

He chuckled, offering her another drumstick with his free hand. “Welcome back to the world,” he said.

Without reservation, she took the drumstick from him and started eating.

Meredith wasn’t surprised that Draven wasn’t angry anymore, or distant, or cold. She had grown used to this version of him: one who no longer punished her with silence when displeased.

Still, she had been prepared for it. After declaring she would poison Xamira, she had expected distance, days of restraint, and even careful politeness.

Instead, he had come straight to her the moment he returned from his meeting. That alone told her a lot.

Between bites, she glanced at him. “How was your meeting?”

Draven snorted softly. “Tedious. A lot of talking that could have been cut in half.” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my patience.”

Meredith hummed, reaching for the bowl beside her. “You should get used to it,” she said calmly. “When you become King, you will drown in meetings like that.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Unfortunately… you’re right.”

She picked up her spoon and dug into the rice. It had been cooked with coconut cream, so it was rich, fragrant, and comforting.

Stir-fried vegetables also sat neatly to the side, still warm. Meredith ate like someone who had been starving. Her spoon moving quickly, her attention wholly on the food, so she didn’t notice Draven’s gaze.

He watched her quietly. The curve of her jaw as she chewed, the side of her neck, and the robe she was putting on.

His eyes lingered there longer than necessary, observing her. Then he looked away, took another bite of his own food, and said nothing.

When Meredith reached for the bowl again, he was already pouring her a glass of water. Then he slid it toward her without comment.

She took it absently, drained half of it, and went right back to eating.

Draven leaned back slightly, thoughtfully studying her from the corner of his eyes once again.

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