Seraphine's POV
Elise locks the door behind her.
The click of the bolt sliding into place sounds like a death sentence. My tiny room suddenly feels smaller, the walls pressing in as my half-sister advances with that vial gleaming in her hands.
What is that? My voice comes out steady, which surprises me. Inside, I'm screaming.
Elise's smile widens. She holds up the crystal vial, tilting it so the dark liquid inside catches the moonlight. It shimmers like oil on water, beautiful and deadly.
Your salvation, she says softly. Or your death. That part's up to you.
I press my back against the wall, as far from her as I can get in this cramped space. I don't understand.
Don't you? Elise perches on the edge of my narrow bed like she owns it. Like she owns everything, including me. Let me explain it simply, since you've always been a bit slow. Father and the council aren't just sending you south to die, dear sister. They're sending you to kill.
My blood turns cold. What?
She holds up the vial between two delicate fingers. This poison is strong enough to kill even the Blood King. One drop in his drink, and Daemon Karvath will be dead within hours. The curse that keeps him alive won't save him from this.
I can't breathe. Can't think. You want me to assassinate him?
Want? No. Elise examines her perfect nails. Expect. Demand. Require. Choose whichever word you like best. The council has been planning this for months. Why do you think they agreed to send a peace bride at all? They knew the Blood King would accept—he always does, right before he kills them.
But this time is different, I whisper, understanding dawning like poison in my veins. This time, the bride kills him first.
Exactly! Elise claps her hands together like I'm a clever child who finally learned her letters. You seduce him, gain his trust, and when he's vulnerable— She mimes pouring liquid into a cup. One drop. That's all it takes.
My legs give out. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the cold floor, staring at my sister in horror. I can't do that. I won't.
The false sweetness drains from Elise's face, replaced by something cold and cruel. You will. Because if you don't, I'll make sure every single person in this manor who's ever shown you kindness suffers for it.
You wouldn't
Old Mara who slips you extra bread? I'll have Father dismiss her without references. She'll starve in the streets. Elise counts on her fingers. Thomas the stable boy who taught you to read? I'll tell Father he stole from us. He'll be whipped and imprisoned. And sweet little Anna from the kitchen who thinks you're her friend? Well, accidents happen in busy kitchens. Hot oil. Sharp knives. Such dangerous places.
Rage floods through me, hot and desperate. They're innocent! They've done nothing wrong!
Neither have you, technically. But that's never mattered before, has it? Elise stands, brushing invisible dust from her perfect gown. Here's how this works. You take the vial. You go south. You kill the Blood King. Then you send word, and Father will welcome you home as a hero. The girl who ended the war. The brave daughter who saved the kingdom.
And if I fail?
Then you die, and I inherit everything without the embarrassment of Father's bastard lurking in the servant quarters. She shrugs. Either way, I win.
She's thought of everything. Planned for every possibility. I'm trapped in a nightmare with no escape.
Elise drops the vial on my bed. It rolls across the thin blanket, and I stare at it like it's a snake ready to strike.
Two days until you leave, Elise says, walking to the door. I suggest you practice looking innocent and helpless. Men love that, even monster kings. She unlocks the door, then pauses. Oh, and Seraphine? Don't even think about telling anyone or destroying the poison. I'll know. And your friends will pay the price.
She leaves, closing the door softly behind her.
I sit on the floor for a long time, staring at that vial. The dark liquid inside seems to pulse with its own heartbeat, promising death to whoever drinks it.
I'm not a killer. I've never hurt anyone in my life. The thought of poisoning someone—even a monster like the Blood King—makes me sick.
But the thought of Mara starving, of Thomas being whipped, of Anna burning in the kitchen...
I reach for the vial with shaking hands.
The next two days pass in a blur of nightmare preparations.
Servants I've never seen before arrive to prepare the peace bride. They scrub me until my skin burns, style my hair with pins that dig into my scalp, and paint my face with colors that make me look like a stranger.
The worst part is the dress.
It's white silk, beautiful and expensive, with delicate embroidery along the hem. It fits perfectly because of course it does—Elise planned this months ago. They style it like a wedding gown, complete with a veil of sheer fabric that makes the world look hazy and unreal.
But it's not a wedding dress. It's a funeral shroud.
I catch my reflection in a mirror and barely recognize myself. The girl staring back looks like a porcelain doll, empty and breakable. The only familiar thing is my eyes—violet like Father's, windows to a soul that's screaming.
I hide the poison vial in a secret pocket sewn into the dress's inner lining. The weight of it presses against my ribs with every breath, a constant reminder of what I'm being forced to do.
On the morning of the third day, I stand in the manor's entrance hall with a small trunk of belongings. Father isn't here to say goodbye. Neither is Elise, she's probably watching from a window somewhere, savoring her victory.
Only old Mara comes to see me off. She presses a handkerchief into my hands, tears streaming down her weathered face.
You're a good girl, she whispers. Whatever happens, remember that. You're good.
I hug her tight, memorizing the feel of the only motherly embrace I've ever known. When I pull away, I don't tell her this might be the last time. I don't tell her anything.
The guards escort me outside.
A black carriage waits in the courtyard, pulled by horses that stamp and snort impatiently. The driver won't look at me. The guards won't look at me. I'm already a ghost to them.
As I approach the carriage, the door swings open from inside.
A man sits in the shadows, dressed in the dark uniform of the Southern Empire. His face is hidden, but his voice is cold as winter.
Lady Seraphine Ashford? I am Commander Thane. I'll be escorting you to the Scorched Border. He pauses, and I hear the smile in his voice. The Blood King is eager to meet his new bride.
I climb into the carriage on legs that barely hold me. The door slams shut behind me like a coffin lid.
As we pull away from Ashford Manor, I press my hand against the hidden vial.
I'm riding toward my death. Or toward becoming a murderer.
I don't know which terrifies me more.