Chapter 49: The King’s Soft Spot

Ren squeezed her eyes shut, her heart thumping against her ribs like a bird trapped in a dryer.

’This is it,’ she thought, panic spiraling out of control. ’He’s going to feed me to the crocodiles. Piece by piece. Or maybe he’ll skin me and use me as a rug. A very small, very pale rug.’

Her mind conjured up increasingly horrific scenarios. ’Boiled in oil? Buried in the mud pit with the angry vipers? Forced to eat raw eels until I explode?’

Tears pooled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She wasn’t ready to die.

Behind her, Viper and the cobra exchanged solemn glances. They gripped her wrists tighter. They knew the law of the Snake Clan. For treason, the punishment was usually the “Slow Crush”—constriction until the bones turned to dust.

Viper looked at the back of Ren’s head and felt a pang of genuine regret. ’A shame,’ the guard thought mournfully. ’She made the crispy bird. It was the best thing I have ever tasted.’

But the King was ruthless. Syris was known for his cold blood. He did not forgive betrayal.

The room was silent. The fire crackled. Syris stared at Ren, his face a mask of stone.

“Your punishment,” Syris announced, his voice echoing with regal authority, “will be…”

Ren held her breath, bracing for the impact.

“…to clean the Nest.”

Silence.

Ren blinked, opening one eye. ’What?’

She looked around the King’s Nest. The obsidian floors were polished to a mirror sheen. The furs were perfectly arranged. There wasn’t a speck of dust in the entire room.

’Clean what?’ Ren thought. ’The air molecules?’

Behind her, Viper’s jaw went slack. The cobra looked confused. ’That’s it?’ Viper thought, his hood drooping slightly. ’She burned the vault and she gets… cleaning duty?

Syris saw the look on Viper’s face. It was a look of profound disapproval. It was the look of a loyal subject wondering if his king had lost his venom sacs.

Syris cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes.

“And!” Syris added loudly, trying to inject more menace into his tone. “You will spend the night in the Dungeon!”

Ren flinched. ’Okay, the dungeon. That sounds more like a punishment.’

Syris glanced at Viper again.

Viper still looked unimpressed. One night? his expression seemed to say. For high treason? The last prisoner got eaten by feral rats!

Syris felt a flush of irritation. Why was his guard judging him? He was the King! He could punish however he wanted!

But the pressure of Viper’s silent judgment was too much.

“AND!” Syris boomed, pointing a finger at Ren. “After the dungeon… you will live with the Harem! You will do the chores! You will peel the tubers! You will scrub the floors! You will be a servant!”

He looked back at Viper. The guard still looked like he was watching a train wreck, but he nodded slowly. Better, the nod seemed to say. Not great, but better.

“Good,” Syris muttered to himself.

He looked at Ren. She looked small, trembling in her ridiculous makeshift snake-skin outfit. Her wrists were red from the guards’ grip.

’She is delicate,’ Syris told himself, justifying his leniency. ’She is a mammal. If I punish her severely she dies. I need her alive to… suffer. Yes. To suffer the chores.’

It had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. Absolutely nothing.

“Do you understand, prisoner?” Syris demanded coldly.

Ren let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob of relief. “Yes. Yes, I understand. Cleaning. Dungeon. Chores. Got it.”

’I’m alive,’ she thought giddily. ’I just have to do dishes. I can do dishes!’

“Take her away,” Syris ordered, turning his back on them so they wouldn’t see the conflict in his eyes. “Let her think on her crimes in the dark.”

“Move,” Viper grunted.

The guards hauled Ren up and dragged her out of the Nest.

The walk to the dungeons was long, cold, and humiliating.

They dragged her down past the main levels, deeper into the earth, bypassing the warm thermal vents. The air grew stale and frigid.

As they passed the barracks, other snakes slithered out to watch. They hissed, their tongues tasting the air.

Ren kept her head down, clutching her green skirt. She didn’t look at them. She just focused on placing one foot in front of the other.

Viper led her to a heavy iron gate covered in rust and moss. He unlocked it with a large key.

Creak.

Beyond lay a row of damp, dark cells carved directly into the bedrock. Water dripped constantly.

“Inside,” Viper ordered, shoving her into the nearest cell.

Ren stumbled in. The floor was wet straw over stone. There was no bed, just a wooden bench.

Viper slammed the barred door shut. CLANG. He locked it.

He looked at her through the bars. His yellow eyes were conflicted.

“You are lucky, Female,” Viper grumbled low. “The King… he has a sickness in his head for you. Anyone else would be meat by now.”

Ren sighed, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.

“Do not make noise,” Viper warned. “The rats are big here.”

He turned and slithered away, the cobra following him, leaving Ren alone in the oppressive darkness.

Ren sat on the wooden bench, pulling her knees to her chest. It was freezing. The dampness seeped through the thin snake-skin fabric instantly.

“Great,” she muttered, her teeth chattering. “From a king’s bed to a hole in the ground. My career trajectory is really taking a dive.”

She rested her head against the cold stone wall, closing her eyes. She was exhausted. The adrenaline of the heist, the fire, and the near-death sentencing had drained her.

The dungeon was silent, save for the dripping water.

Plip. Plop.

Ren started to drift off, her mind foggy.

Suddenly, a voice spoke from the darkness of the cell next to hers.

“Well, well, well.”

It was a scratchy, sibilant voice. Bitter and laced with venom.

“Look who finally fell from the high branch.”

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