Varder wanted to say something on hearing the news of Simon's escape.He couldn't.
Inside his chest, the Wolfsbane had found the electrical center of his heart. It felt like a thousand jagged needles made of ice were blooming in his veins. He tried to stand, to bark an order that would seal every exit in the palace, but his legs didn't belong to him anymore. They belonged to the poison.
He slumped forward, his knuckles hitting the table with a dull thud. His vision began to darken at the edges, the gold and black of the hall bleeding into a sickening, oily grey. He looked at Cord, then at the King, and finally, his gaze dragged itself to Ava.
She was sitting perfectly still, seeming unruffled by everything that was happening.
"You..." Varder managed, the word a wet, choking sound.
Varder's knuckles hit the table first.
