The great hall of Polis was alive with the sounds of feasting—muffled conversation, the clinking of goblets, the occasional burst of laughter as warriors and leaders from various clans exchanged uneasy pleasantries. It was a rare moment of peace, an attempt to strengthen the fragile alliance Lexa had fought so hard to build. You sat beside her at the high table, silently observing the room.

Then the first scream rang out.

Your head snapped toward the sound just in time to see a warrior at the far end of the table lurch forward, knocking over a goblet of deep red wine. His entire body convulsed violently before he collapsed, face contorted in pain. A second later, another person gasped, clutching their throat as if it were closing up. The hall erupted into chaos.

Lexa was already on her feet.

“No one leaves this room.”

Her voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the panic like a blade.

You didn’t hesitate. You darted forward, dropping to your knees beside the first fallen warrior. You pressed two fingers to his throat, feeling nothing but stillness beneath his skin. Dead. Your eyes flickered to his goblet, the spilled wine soaking into the wood. You quickly turned to the second victim, a woman still gasping for breath. Her face was flushed, her pupils blown wide.

You grabbed the nearest knife and pricked your own finger, then dipped it into the remaining wine on the table. You brought it to her lips, just barely tasting it before spitting it out. A bitter, metallic tang coated your tongue.

“Poison,”

you spat.

“Fast-acting.”

Then one of the Ice Nation warriors—tall, lean, with the sharp blue eyes that all of them seemed to have—stepped forward.

“It was meant for you, Heda.”

The warrior tilted his chin up, defiant.

“The poison was never meant to touch lesser men.”

Before you could take a step toward him, Lexa raised a hand, stopping you.

“Guards,”

Lexa said coolly,

“take him.”