Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Cup
Back in the royal guest wing, Elias sat cross-legged on the plush bed, staring at his glowing hand. The golden lines had dimmed to a soft, pulsating ember, casting a warm glow across his face.
The heavy oak door creaked open.
Elias flinched, pulling his hand behind his back. But it wasn't the king or Rowan who entered. It was a young serving girl with downcast eyes, carrying a silver tray holding a steaming silver goblet and a plate of fresh white bread and cheese.
"Your... Your Grace," the girl stammered, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor as she walked toward the bedside table. "The kitchen staff sent up a late supper. And... and a cup of spiced wine to help you sleep."
Elias looked at the food, his stomach rumbling loudly. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in his life, let alone white bread and spiced wine. But a knot of suspicion tightened in his chest. Everything that had happened today felt like a trap.
"Leave it on the table," Elias said, trying to sound as authoritative as he could manage, though his voice cracked slightly.
The girl hesitated. Her hands trembled as she set the silver tray down, and for a split second, her eyes flickered toward the goblet with an expression of profound, crushing guilt.
"The... the Captain said you must drink it all," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "He said it's a royal custom for guests of high standing."
"Captain Vane said that?" Elias asked, narrowing his eyes.
The girl didn't answer. She bobbed a quick, clumsy curtsy, turned on her heel, and practically bolted out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.
Elias stared at the silver goblet. Wisps of steam rose from the spiced wine, carrying a rich aroma of cinnamon and cloves. But as he leaned closer, he noticed something strange: a faint, milky residue clinging to the inner rim of the silver cup—a residue that didn't belong in spiced wine.
Nightshade.
Even a stable boy who spent his days shoveling manure knew what nightshade looked and smelled like. It was a deadly poison harvested from the dark woods beyond the northern wall, favored by assassins because it paralyzed the heart within minutes, mimicking a natural seizure.
Elias's heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. They weren't going to wait for the king to decide his fate. They were going to murder him in his sleep and call it a tragic accident.
He stood up, his legs shaking, and looked around the lavish room. There was no back exit, only the heavy oak door leading to the guarded corridor and the balcony doors opening out into the cool night air.
He rushed to the balcony and threw the glass doors open.
The cool night wind hit his face like a splash of cold water. He stepped out onto the stone ledge, looking down. The guest wing was situated on the third floor of the inner keep. Below him lay a sheer drop of fifty feet straight down into the castle’s central rose garden.
Clang.
The sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway outside his room. The distinct, metallic clatter of armor drawing closer.
May you like
They're coming.
Elias backed up against the stone railing, his hands trembling. He looked down at the garden below, then back toward the balcony door as the iron handle began to slowly, deliberately turn.
