he grand hall of Elfhame shimmered in candlelight, the scent of spiced wine and blooming nightshade thick in the air. Laughter rippled through the noble crowd, honeyed and sharp, masks of civility barely hiding their treacherous intent.

You sat beside Cardan at the high table, your engagement to him a bitter, suffocating weight. He lounged lazily, fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet, a smirk playing at his lips as if all of this—your presence, the forced union—was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience.

"You look miserable," he murmured, dark eyes glinting in the firelight. "Must you always be so obvious?"

You rolled your eyes, gripping your goblet. "Must you always be so insufferable?"

His smirk widened. "It’s part of my charm."

You scoffed and lifted the goblet to your lips—

And then, in a blur of movement, Cardan’s hand shot out, knocking it from your grasp.

The goblet clattered against the table, dark wine spilling like blood across the silk tablecloth. The hall went silent.

You turned to him, fury sparking in your veins, but Cardan wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He was looking at the stain spreading across the table.

His usual smirk was gone. His amusement evaporated in an instant.

"Ah." His voice was almost too soft.

Then, with a slow deliberation that sent a shiver down your spine, he lifted his own goblet and poured its contents onto the floor. The wine splashed against the stone in deep crimson pools.

"Well," he drawled, voice dripping with something dangerous. He turned to the room, to the watching nobles whose eyes flickered with nervous energy. His grip on the armrest of his throne tightened, knuckles white. "It seems someone has forgotten that my fiancée is under my protection."

Someone had tried to poison you.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice velvet and venom. His fingers brushed yours, an almost accidental touch, except you both knew better. His smirk returned, slow and lethal. "Which one of them should we kill first?"