Poisonous
Theo returned from the council meeting late in the afternoon, the weight of leadership still pressing on his shoulders. His stride was purposeful, but the fatigue in his eyes was clear. The guards at the Luna’s chamber bowed as he entered, and Rina, who had been pacing the room restlessly, immediately turned toward him.
“Dear,” she greeted with urgency, her voice carrying both relief and frustration. “There is something you must hear.”
Theo frowned at her tone and closed the door behind him. “What is it? You look troubled.”
Rina motioned for him to sit, but the agitation in her posture betrayed her calm words. Once he was seated, she began recounting the incident from that morning: Samantha’s dramatic entrance, her claims of poison, the supposed letter from Priscilla, and finally, Priscilla’s desperate act of tasting the meal and collapsing under the poison’s effect.
Theo listened quietly, his face unreadable. Only his clenched jaw betrayed the storm that brewed beneath his calm exterior. When Rina was done, she added with conviction:
“I cannot ignore what happened. Priscilla has proven to be dangerous, whether out of ambition or betrayal, I cannot yet decide. But Samantha… she risked everything to save me. Had she not rushed in, I might have eaten that poisoned meal without suspicion.”
Her eyes softened with gratitude. “I have made a decision. I will reward Samantha. She shall serve as my personal maid from now on, closest to me, for she has proven her loyalty.”
Theo’s expression darkened. He rose slowly from his chair, towering over the room with a presence that made even Rina fall silent. “You wish to reward her?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with iron.
“Yes,” Rina replied firmly, though she was unsettled by his tone. “She saved my life, Theo. Whatever grievances you may have had with her in the past, you cannot deny she proved herself today.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He did not trust Samantha—not even slightly. Her timing was too perfect, her story too convenient, and that “letter” was almost too damning. Yet… the evidence had arranged itself against Priscilla, and Samantha now stood shining as the hero.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his temper down. “Rina,” he said at last, his voice low and measured, “you must be cautious. Not everything that glitters is gold. A cunning snake often slithers closest to the fire, basking in its warmth while plotting in the shadows.”
Rina frowned, slightly offended. “Do you mean to say Samantha plotted this herself? That she poisoned the food just to play the savior?”
Theo did not answer immediately. His piercing gaze drifted to the door, as if he could see the schemer standing right outside. Finally, he turned back to his mate. “I am saying only this—keep her near, if you must. But do not let her fool you into lowering your guard. Sometimes an enemy disguised as a friend is far more dangerous than one who stands openly against you.”
Rina hesitated, torn between her gratitude to Samantha and her trust in Theo’s wisdom. But the memory of Priscilla choking on the poisoned food weighed heavily on her heart.
“I hear you,” she said at last, though her tone remained unconvinced. “Still, I cannot disregard what she has done. For now, Samantha shall serve me. But I will remain watchful, as you advise.”
Theo studied her carefully, then nodded. “Very well. Let it be so. But remember, Rina—this is not the end of it. It is only the beginning.”
Outside the chamber, hidden from view, Samantha lingered at the corner of the hallway, eavesdropping. A smile curved her lips when she heard Rina’s words.
Her plan was working.
But she also knew Theo’s suspicion was sharper than she had anticipated.
That meant she would need to be even more careful… and even more ruthless.
\---
The very next morning, the estate buzzed with whispers. Priscilla had survived the night under the healer’s care. Though weak, she had begun to recover, her lips struggling to form words, her eyes flashing with desperation as if she had something urgent to say.
This news reached Samantha through one of the kitchen maids, and instantly, her chest tightened. No. That girl cannot be allowed to speak.
As she stirred the morning porridge, meant for Rina, her hands trembled slightly. If Priscilla lived long enough to expose her, everything she had worked for—every carefully woven lie—would unravel in an instant.
She forced a smile as the maids around her chatted, but her mind was already racing. I need to silence her… before she reaches Rina or Theo.
That evening, Samantha slipped away after her duties, pretending she needed to fetch water for Rina's evening bath. Instead, she crept toward the healer’s chambers. The guards stationed outside were alert, but Samantha had anticipated this. She had already spent the past two days warming herself into their good graces with little acts of kindness—sharing bits of bread, whispering sweet flattery, even feigning interest in their boring stories.
So when she appeared with a small pouch of herbs in her hand, she smiled sweetly and said, "The Luna had sent me to deliver this for the patient. It will ease her recovery.”
The guards exchanged a look. One of them frowned suspiciously. “At this hour?”
Samantha lowered her lashes, feigning innocence. “Yes… she said the herbs must be given before nightfall or they will lose their strength. I promise, it will only take a moment.”
After a pause, the other guard shrugged. “Let her in. She’s harmless.”
Harmless. That word almost made Samantha laugh.
Inside the dimly lit chamber, the faint scent of crushed herbs and damp cloth filled the air. Priscilla lay on the bed, pale and frail, her breaths shallow but steady. The healer had stepped out, leaving her apprentice dozing in a chair at the corner.
Perfect.
Samantha glided to the bedside, her smile cold and venomous now that no one could see. Priscilla’s eyes fluttered open, meeting hers. At once, terror flickered across the girl’s gaze. She tried to speak, her lips trembling, but no sound came.
Leaning close, Samantha whispered so softly it was like poison in the air:
“You should have died yesterday. But fate is cruel… and I am crueler. You will not ruin me, Priscilla.”
From the hidden pouch inside her sleeve, she slipped out a tiny needle dipped in the juice of a rare toxic root. Quick, silent, untraceable.
Priscilla’s eyes widened, her fingers twitching weakly, trying to push her away. But Samantha pressed her hand firmly against the girl’s chest to hold her down.
“Shhh,” she cooed, her smile venom-sweet. “Go quietly. It is better this way.”
She raised the needle—
But before she could strike, the sound of footsteps echoed outside. Samantha froze, slipping the needle back into her sleeve just as the healer reentered with fresh bandages.
“Ah, you’re here,” the healer said absently, not questioning her presence. “Help me hold her steady.”
Samantha obeyed, her expression the perfect mask of concern. Yet inside, rage burned. She had been so close.
Too close...
\---
Over the next three days, Priscilla’s strength began to return slowly. The healer kept her under close watch, feeding her antidotes and strengthening herbs. Though still weak, her eyes grew sharper, and she tried several times to whisper words to the healer.
Each time, Samantha found an excuse to linger near the healer’s quarters. Bring healthy food or Collecting her dirty laundry to help wash. Her presence became so frequent that the guards and even the healer’s apprentice grew accustomed to it.
But behind her soft smiles and dutiful hands, Samantha was panicking. She’s recovering too quickly. Soon she’ll talk, and when she does…
One evening, as she carried a tray of warm broth, she overheard the healer murmuring to his apprentice:
“Her tongue is still heavy, but by tomorrow she should be able to speak properly again.”
Samantha’s grip on the tray tightened until her knuckles turned white. Tomorrow. That was her deadline.
That night, as the pack settled into slumber, Samantha devised another plan. She no longer trusted her own hands alone—too risky with the healer always hovering. Instead, she would use someone else to do it for her.
The next morning, she approached one of the younger maids in the laundry quarters—a timid girl named Yura, who was desperate to earn favor.
With a warm smile, Samantha pressed a small pouch into Yura’s palm. “The Luna asked me to deliver this powdered herb to Priscilla’s porridge. But I haven't prepared the Luna bathing water yet. Will you do it for me? It’s harmless, just something to ease her recovery.”
Yura, eager to please and unaware of the deadly powder in her hand, nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Sister Samantha. I’ll make sure it’s done.”
As Yura scurried off, Samantha’s lips curved into a cold smile. Perfect. Even if suspicion arises, it won’t point to me.