POV: Rosalinda
The ballroom glowed as if the castle itself wished to forget the blood that had soaked its stones only days before.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished marble floors, and banners bearing the restored sigil of the old bloodline hung from the vaulted ceiling. Music flowed softly from the gallery, strings and flutes weaving together into something celebratory and almost tender.
Servants moved in careful patterns, offering trays of wine and silver-dished delicacies to guests dressed in their finest, all eager to be seen celebrating the future rather than mourning the past.
Luka’s engagement. The words tasted bitter even as I repeated them silently.
I remained at the edge of the hall, wrapped in shadow where the torchlight did not quite reach. No one announced me, and no one looked for me.
That suited me perfectly. A woman who had once ruled learned quickly the value of being underestimated.
From where I stood, I could see everything.
Luka stood near the dais with Emerika at his side, her hand resting nervously in his. She wore pale blue, a color chosen to make her seem gentle and harmless, and the court had already begun to adore her for it.
Luka leaned close to her as people spoke, protective without realizing it, his posture proud in a way that unsettled me. He was not Cassian’s creation after all. He carried a strength that did not bow easily.
Wilhelm and Francesca stood together nearby, a matched presence that drew every gaze sooner or later. Francesca’s power rolled through the room in subtle waves, her alpha nature pressing down on instincts whether people acknowledged it or not.
Wilhelm watched everything with a king’s patience, his hand resting at the small of her back as if to remind the world that she was not to be separated from him again.
I clenched my fingers in the folds of my cloak. None of this was meant to be theirs.
A soft rustle of fabric alerted me to movement behind the pillar. I did not turn until I felt the familiar scent—dried herbs, smoke, and something sharp beneath it.
“You came,” I said quietly.
Selena stepped into the shadow beside me, her gray hair hidden beneath a dark hood, her hands folded calmly around a small leather satchel. Her face was lined, unreadable, her eyes reflecting the candlelight with unsettling clarity.
“Of course,” she replied. “This is a turning point. I would not miss it.”
I glanced back toward the ballroom, lowering my voice. “They think they’ve won.”
Selena followed my gaze. “They often do, right before everything collapses.”
I allowed myself a thin smile. “You told me once that every reign ends the same way,” I said. “With blood.”
Selena inclined her head slightly. “I told you that power demands sacrifice.”
“And you taught me how to make others pay for it,” I replied.
The satchel in her hands shifted as she opened it just enough for me to glimpse the vials within. Dark liquid gleamed faintly inside glass, thick and deceptively still.
“Enough to kill them all?” I asked.
“Enough to silence the room,” Selena answered evenly. “Some will die quickly. Others will suffer longer. The chaos will do the rest.”
My pulse quickened, not with fear, but with anticipation. “Wilhelm is perceptive,” I warned. “He senses things others don’t.”
Selena’s lips curved faintly. “Which is why it must already be too late when he notices.”
She gestured subtly toward the servants circulating with wine. “The poison is slow to awaken, quick to kill. It will ride the warmth of the drink, bloom in the blood, and close the lungs as if air itself has turned against them.”
I studied her face. “You never cared who ruled,” I said. “Why help me now?”
Selena met my gaze calmly. “Balance must be restored,” she said. “The old blood carries more than crowns, and you understand that mercy has no place in prophecy.”
A servant approached our side of the hall, tray balanced carefully in his hands. Selena stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had never been questioned in these corridors. She murmured something softly, too low for me to hear, and the servant paused, confused but compliant.
In one smooth motion, Selena uncorked a vial and tipped a measured amount into the nearest goblet. She repeated the action twice more, her movements hidden by the folds of her sleeve, then stepped back as if nothing had happened.
The servant blinked, shook his head, and moved on. I exhaled slowly.
Across the hall, laughter rose as a toast was called. Glasses were lifted. Luka smiled awkwardly as someone clapped him on the shoulder, and Emerika laughed nervously, clearly overwhelmed by the attention.
Wilhelm stiffened.
I saw it instantly—the subtle shift in his posture, the way his head turned slightly as his gaze swept the room. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly.
“He smells it,” I whispered.
Selena did not look concerned. “He smells something unfamiliar,” she corrected. “Not danger, not yet.”
Wilhelm leaned toward Francesca, murmuring something I could not hear. Francesca frowned, her gaze sharpening as she scanned the guests. For a heartbeat, hope flared dangerously in my chest.
Then the first scream cut through the music.
A noblewoman near the center of the hall staggered, her goblet shattering against the floor as she clutched her throat. Her face flushed deep red, then began to darken as her breath hitched violently. Guests around her recoiled in shock, some laughing nervously, assuming a fit or a faint.
Then another one dropped to his knees, coughing harshly, froth spilling from his lips as his hands clawed at the air. Panic rippled outward.
“Something’s wrong,” someone shouted.
A third guest collapsed, knocking over a table as he fell. Wine spilled across the marble, crimson pooling beneath struggling bodies.
Wilhelm moved instantly, his voice cutting through the chaos. “No one drinks the wine,” he commanded, too late.
Francesca rushed to the nearest fallen guest, her hands glowing faintly as she tried to force breath back into lungs that would not obey. Her jaw tightened as she realized the truth.
Selena watched calmly from the shadows, and I felt a fierce, terrible satisfaction bloom in my chest.
Guests screamed now, fear tearing through the ballroom as people tried to flee, trampling fallen bodies in their desperation. Some clawed at their throats, others gasped uselessly, their faces contorting in silent agony as air refused to reach their lungs.
Wilhelm caught a collapsing lord before he hit the floor, his face dark with fury and disbelief. He looked up sharply, his gaze sweeping the shadows, and for a fleeting moment I thought he saw me.
I stepped back, deeper into darkness, Selena’s presence steady at my side.
“This will not end the way you think,” I murmured, watching the court choke on its celebration.
Selena’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “It will end the way it must.”
The music had stopped.
The chandeliers still burned brightly overhead, illuminating a room filled with terror, betrayal, and dying breaths. And as the first bodies went still against the marble floor, I knew the kingdom would never forget this night—even if no one ever knew my name again.