Chapter 47: Couture de Crisis

Ren sank into the hot water of the Royal Springs, letting out a long, ragged sigh that bubbled up to the surface.

She reached for her inventory, her hand grasping for the familiar, smooth shape of her [Rose Scented Soap]. She needed that floral scent. She needed to scrub away the mud, the soot, and the snake-slime.

Her fingers grasped empty air.

[System Notification: Item Not Found.][Reminder: You traded ’Rose Soap (1x)’ to Vex in exchange for information.]

Ren froze.

“Right,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I sold my hygiene. I am officially a savage.”

She slapped the water in frustration. “Stupid Fox. Stupid bargains. Stupid immunity.”

She scrubbed herself furiously with just the hot water and a rough sponge she found by the ledge. It wasn’t the same. She felt clean, but she didn’t feel civilized. The grit was gone, but the stress was baked into her pores.

She floated on her back, staring at the glowing blue crystals on the ceiling. She replayed the scene in the bedroom. Syris hadn’t blinked at the sedative. He drank it like it was grape juice.

’Poison immunity,’ Ren thought bitterly. ’Of course. He’s a giant venomous snake. Why would I think a little root powder would knock him out?’

She needed something else.

Her mind flashed back to the vault. To the barrel she had kicked over to start the fire. The smell of high-proof grain alcohol had been overwhelming.

’Alcohol.’

“Wait,” Ren sat up, water cascading off her shoulders. “Can snakes get drunk?”

She thought about biology. Snakes had slower metabolisms. If she could get enough alcohol into him… it wouldn’t kill him, but it might slow him down. It might make him sloppy.

“Drunk Syris,” Ren mused. “It’s a risk. He might get sleepy, or he might get… handsy. But it’s better than alert and immune.”

The problem was the supply. She had just set fire to the main supply in the vault. And she couldn’t exactly go back down there and ask the angry, charred vipers for a refill.

“I have to convince him to bring it to me,” she decided. “I have to suggest a party? A drinking contest? A… wake for the dead tiger?”

It was a thin plan, but it was all she had.

Ren climbed out of the pool. She reached for the black bear fur to dry off. The coarse hair felt good against her skin, scrubbing away the last of the dampness.

“I need clothes,” Ren muttered. “If I walk back in there naked again, I’m never getting out of that bed.”

She went to the carved wooden chest in the corner of the cavern. She threw the lid open.

It was filled with scraps.

There were no sewn garments. Just bolts of raw silk, cured snake skins and translucent gauzy fabrics.

“No needle. No thread. No buttons.” Ren held up a long strip of shimmering silver silk. “Okay. Think Project Runway: Stone Age Edition

.”

She began to wrap.

She took a long piece of black silk and wrapped it tightly around her chest, crisscrossing it over her breasts and tying it securely at the back of her neck like a halter top. It was secure, but it left her midriff completely bare.

For the bottom, she found a piece of heavy, iridescent green snake-skin fabric. She wrapped it around her hips like a sarong, pulling it tight to ensure it wouldn’t slip, and knotted it firmly at her hip. The slit went all the way up her thigh, dangerously high, but it allowed for movement.

She caught her reflection in the water.

She looked wild. The black halter emphasized her pale skin, and the green skirt shimmered like scales. Her red hair was drying in wild, humid waves around her face.

“I look like a jungle princess who lost her luggage,” Ren sighed. “But at least I’m covered. Mostly.”

She took a deep breath and unlocked the hidden door.

The King’s Nest

Ren stepped back into the bedroom.

She expected Syris to be asleep. Or maybe pacing.

Instead, Syris was standing by the obsidian fireplace. He was no longer naked; he had retied his sheer black sash. Ren checked immediately—the Jade Key was dangling there, innocently. He was staring into the dying embers of the fire, his back to her.

The air in the room felt heavy.

“Syris?” Ren called softly, stepping onto the furs. “I’m back. And I’m clean. No more sand.”

Syris turned slowly.

His face was a mask of marble. The playful, lusty expression from earlier was gone. His amethyst eyes were dark, devoid of the usual neon glow. They looked… cold.

He swept his gaze over her makeshift outfit. He didn’t comment on the exposed skin. He didn’t make a lewd remark about the high slit or the tight bodice.

He just stared.

Ren’s stomach dropped. ’Why isn’t he flirting? Why is he looking at me like I’m a puzzle he just solved?’

“You dress like the harem now,” Syris said, his voice flat. “Wrapped in scraps.”

“I… ruined the robe,” Ren said, forcing a light laugh. “Mud stains are impossible to get out. I improvised.”

“Improvised,” Syris repeated under his breath. He was not familiar with the word.

He walked toward her. Every step was deliberate, heavy.

He stopped inches from her. He didn’t touch her. He just loomed, his tall frame swallowing her whole.

He inhaled deeply.

“All the mud is gone,” Syris noted. “You smell of fresh water.”

“I scrubbed hard,” Ren smiled nervously.

“But underneath…” Syris leaned down, his nose brushing her hair. “…there is another scent. Faint. But lingering.”

Ren’s heart hammered.

“It smells like… smoke,” Syris whispered. “And burnt firewater?”

Ren froze. ’Burnt firewater? Is he talking about alcohol?’

Syris pulled back, looking directly into her eyes. His gaze pierced through her like a knife aimed at her mind.

“Ren,” Syris said softly, his voice dangerously calm.

“What were you doing in the vault?”

Ren’s blood turned to ice.

’Oh shit.’

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