The Vampire King's Pet-Chapter 335: Secret meeting

Gregory knew exactly what his instructions were—orders he was expected to follow to the letter, without hesitation or deviation.

He was to reach Rymora, convince her to secretly return with him, and together they were to decide what tale she would present to Lady Aria. Nothing more, nothing less.

With his shoulders drawn high and his form hidden beneath a dark, travel-worn cloak, Gregory moved steadily toward the castle gates. The hood shadowed his face, obscuring his features from curious eyes. In his pocket lay a pouch heavy with coin—money meant not for comfort, but for silence, for information, and for obedience. Gold had always been a language guards understood fluently.

He intended to use it to learn where Rymora was being kept.

Finding her, he knew, would be only the first challenge. Reaching her was an entirely different matter. Access to women of her standing often took hours of negotiation unless one wished merely to send a message, in which case a servant or maid could be persuaded to act as courier.

The castle gates themselves posed little difficulty. The early hour worked in his favor; the shift was changing, guards tired and inattentive. Gregory wasted no time slipping coin into the right palms, murmuring quiet requests, and positioning himself where he could wait without drawing unnecessary attention.

Rymora was his biological sister—though the bond meant little to him now. He had not spoken to her since the day she had been excommunicated from the pack. As far as Gregory was concerned, she might as well have been dead. If it were up to him, she would have remained so.

The only reason he stood here now, skulking in a foreign realm, was because the Alpha and Luna had commanded it.

Still, the longer he waited before the castle gates, the more his irritation grew. Dawn stretched slowly across the sky, pale sunlight creeping over stone walls and banners, and yet his request had clearly not been treated as urgent. Each passing moment scraped against his nerves.

By the time a guard finally approached him, Gregory’s jaw was clenched tight enough to ache.

The guard leaned close, his breath carrying the faint scent of ale as he whispered, "Rymora has been moved to Lord Drehk’s villa."

And then, just as quickly, the man turned and walked away, unconcerned with the weight of the information he had sold. As long as it did not cost him his head, it was worth the coin.

Gregory nodded stiffly, annoyance flickering across his features as he immediately turned in the opposite direction and strode away without looking back. His teeth ground together in anger.

He had hoped—foolishly, it seemed—that reaching her would not be complicated. But now it was clear that it would be more than merely difficult. It would be dangerous.

Lord Drehk’s villa came into view long before Gregory allowed himself to approach it fully. He stopped well short of the mansion, positioning himself where he could observe without being seen. The estate loomed large and imposing, its pale stone walls guarded heavily, its iron gates watched by men who did not look easily bribed.

Unlike the castle, whose outer gates often grew crowded and lax, this place radiated vigilance.

Anyone foolish enough to attack King Zyren’s property would have to be certain they could kill him—and escape.

Gregory frowned deeply as his gaze swept over the villa’s entrance.

"Why would she even be here?" he muttered under his breath.

The question gnawed at him. No matter how many possibilities he considered, none made sense. And his frustration only deepened as he realized that no amount of staring at the arched entrance or patrolling guards would grant him access. If he stepped closer, he would be detected instantly.

Hours passed beneath the rising sun before he finally devised a solution—and found someone desperate or greedy enough to agree to it.

"You only need to get her to step outside with you," Gregory whispered urgently to the maid standing before him.

She hesitated for barely a moment before nodding. The promise of payment had erased whatever doubts she might have held.

The maid was short, her posture timid, her head perpetually bowed. Yet her eyes told a different story—sharp, calculating, and sly. She approached the villa gates with practiced ease, the guards barely sparing her a glance as they let her pass inside.

Rymora, meanwhile, lay sprawled across the bed in Lord Drehk’s chamber, her body half-sunk into silken sheets. She had not left the villa since receiving word from Aria that she could remain away from the castle for a while longer.

Her face was pressed into the bedding, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to calm the familiar unease twisting in her chest.

Every time her thoughts drifted to the child growing within her, dread followed close behind.

Lord Drehk still did not know.

And with every day that passed, the longer his ignorance remained intact, the more Rymora dared to believe that perhaps he would never find out. That possibility—however fragile—was the only thing that allowed her to breathe.

Especially if the child took after him instead of her.

Yet uncertainty clung to her relentlessly. She pushed herself off the bed, rising abruptly, as though movement alone might drive the anxiety away. She bathed, dressed carefully, and composed herself with the practiced grace expected of her.

In Lord Drehk’s mansion, she was treated as anything but a stranger. Servants deferred to her, doors opened at her approach, and every comfort was provided without question. The villa might as well have belonged to her.

That was why the knock startled her.

She turned sharply as a guard’s voice sounded from beyond the door, requesting permission to enter.

Surprised, Rymora granted it.

The guard stepped inside, followed by a maid she did not recognize. Both bowed deeply, the guard’s respect unmistakable.

"She claims to have a message meant for you alone," the guard said, stepping aside as the maid extended a folded piece of paper.

Rymora eyed it cautiously before taking it from her hand. The paper itself posed no threat—yet her fingers trembled as she unfolded it.

Her breath caught as she read.

Meet me outside the villa.

—Gregory. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Her mind leapt instantly to the Gregory Lord Drehk’s butler had once killed—before reality caught up with her. Dead men did not return.

This Gregory could only be her brother.

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest as questions flooded her thoughts. What could possibly compel him to travel all the way from the werewolf realm to the vampire lands?

Her first instinct was to ignore the message entirely. But she knew better. If she did, he would linger—hovering near Drehk’s villa far longer than was safe.

And that was the last thing she could allow.

Any prolonged attention risked drawing Lord Drehk’s scrutiny. And scrutiny could unravel everything—her origins, her secrets, her child.

"Lead the way," Rymora told the maid.

She gestured firmly for the guard to remain behind. He protested, but she silenced him with a sharp look.

"I will take the carriage," she said coolly. "The driver will suffice."

Moments later, she stepped into the waiting carriage. It rolled through the estate grounds before halting a short distance away.

Rymora kept her expression composed, even as anxiety churned violently within her. The carriage door opened.

Gregory stood there.

Her breath faltered at the sight of him. He looked exactly as she remembered—hard-eyed, rigid, and filled with thinly veiled disdain.

He climbed into the carriage and seated himself beside her without a word. The maid accepted her payment and vanished immediately, leaving them alone in the cramped space.

Rymora did not look at him.

Gregory did.

And neither of them was pleased to be there.

The carriage remained still, the silence between them thick and suffocating.

Rymora was the first to break it.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was low, controlled, though her fingers had curled tightly into the folds of her skirts. She finally turned to face him, her eyes sharp. "What do you want, Gregory?"

He let out a quiet, humorless scoff, his gaze raking over her with open disdain. "You haven’t changed," he said. "Not a bit." His lips curled slightly. "Still soft. Still human-looking."

The words struck like a slap.

"For a werewolf," he continued coldly, "you look as fragile as ever. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the pack never touched you."

Rymora stiffened, her heart racing, but she forced herself not to react. She refused to give him the satisfaction. "Say what you came to say," she demanded. "I don’t have time for insults."

Gregory’s hand rose slowly to his hood. With deliberate pride, he pulled it back, revealing his pointed ears—unmistakable, sharp, and unhidden. A symbol of everything he still claimed to be.

"Unlike you," he said, lifting his chin, "I’m not a runt,"

Rymora swallowed hard, her pulse hammering painfully in her ears. She kept her gaze steady, even as fear crawled up her spine. "Enough," she snapped. "What do you want from me?"

His expression hardened.

"The king is in the realm," Gregory said flatly. "King Jared himself."

Her breath hitched.

"And the Alpha wants a message delivered to Lady Aria," he continued. "One that can’t be sent through servants or guards. Preferably one that gets her out of the castle."

Rymora’s chest tightened as the weight of his words settled over her.

"That’s why I’m here," Gregory finished. "And whether you like it or not, you’re the only way I can reach her."