Chapter 22 The Poisoner’s Smile
22\. The Poisoner’s Smile
There are two kinds of silences in Dravenmoor Castle.
The first is peace—the rare, fleeting quiet that comes after a storm.
The second is fear.
This morning, it was the second.
Lucian hadn’t woken since the collapse.
The healers called it exhaustion—a convenient lie. They didn’t see the blood on my palms, or maybe they pretended not to. In this castle, pretending was safer than truth.
I’d been sitting beside his bed for hours, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. The candlelight made his skin look ghostly pale. A shallow bowl of cooling herbs sat untouched on the table; even the air seemed to hesitate before touching him.
His crown rested on the desk nearby—gold dulled, edges flecked with dried blood. For once, the thing looked exactly as it was: too heavy for any mortal to wear.
“Still pretending to be immortal, huh?” I murmured. “You could at least try fainting gracefully next time.”
He didn’t answer, of course. The silence was unbearable.
So, when Darius came knocking at the door, I was grateful for something to aim my thoughts at.
“Lady Aria,” he said smoothly when I opened the door. “I trust the King is resting comfortably?”
“If by ‘comfortably’ you mean ‘unconscious and half-dead,’ then yes. Perfectly.”
He didn’t even flinch. That’s how you knew someone was dangerous—they never reacted like humans do. I know this might be a paranoia since Darius was Lucian loyal beta but in the book of Blood Moon Requiem; I remember one thing.
It's not directly Rowan blade that fatal the villain but his tyranny by his own pack before Rowan slayed him at war. I shall need to be careful.
“The court grows restless,” Darius continued, stepping inside as though invited. “Without His Majesty’s presence, the nobles whisper.”
“Let them whisper,” I said, crossing my arms. “Maybe the sound will drown out their hypocrisy.”
He smiled amused. “You always were sharp-tongued, my lady. But this is not a time for wit—it’s a time for caution. The eastern lords are requesting reassurance that the Alpha King remains… capable.”
“Capable?” I echoed. “He just coughed up blood. What reassurance would you like me to give? That his lungs are performing interpretive dance?”
That earned another amusement.
He gestured toward Lucian’s sleeping form. “The council proposes a temporary regency until he recovers. Someone must lead the court.”
“And I’m guessing you’re volunteering?”
“Of course not.” His smile reached his eyes. “But you are.”
My stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”
“The King’s command before his collapse was clear,” he said. “You are to act in his stead for all non-military affairs. His words, not mine.”
I stared at him. “You mean to tell me that before bleeding out and collapsing, Lucian found time to issue royal paperwork?”
Darius spread his hands. “He is efficient, even when unwell.”
It sounded false. Too convenient. But I couldn’t afford to challenge it—not yet.
And maybe it was true. Maybe Lucian, in his stubbornness, really did trust me to hold his throne while he slept through death.
“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “Then I’ll stand as Luna.”
“Excellent.” Darius bowed as he gestures the way, “the court awaits.”
If you ever want to know what hell looks like, attend a Dravenmoor council meeting without Lucian.
The throne room felt colder in his absence. The light from the stained glass windows looked dull, like even the sun refused to witness what went on inside. Nobles lined the sides, dressed in jewels and false smiles, each waiting for the first sign of weakness.
I sat in his place—not on the throne, but beside it. My chair was smaller, intentionally so, a reminder of my place. But right now, the whole room watched me as though I was the throne.
Darius stood by my side, playing the loyal advisor. Across the hall, Galgador leaned lazily against a pillar, his smile snake-like as always. I swore I caught him glance toward Lucian’s empty seat with something close to hunger.
The first to speak was Lady Mirelle, her voice sweet as poison. “We pray for the Alpha's swift recovery. Though some might say… nature takes its course quicker than we expect.”
A ripple of laughter followed, thin and false.
I smiled sweetly back. “Careful, my lady. Nature has an unfortunate habit of thinning weeds first.”
The laughter stopped.
I rose slowly, letting the silence stretch. “His Majesty will recover. Until then, I will represent his authority. Any decisions made without royal sanction will be treated as treason.”
The word treason echoed, crisp and satisfying.
If Lucian had been conscious, he’d have smirked.
But the moment I sat down again, my pulse was a storm.
Because beneath all the posturing, I could feel it—eyes following me, whispers rising like smoke. Someone here had poisoned him. Someone was watching how I’d react.
I needed information.
And I knew exactly where to find it.
Night fell by the time I slipped into the royal library. It was empty, quiet, save for the steady tick of the clock above the hearth. The shelves rose like towers, each filled with histories, treaties, and secrets disguised as ink.
I pulled the records of the last seven court banquets—the guest lists, the wine distributors, the kitchen staff logs. One thing about poison: it always leaves a trail.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
I didn’t turn. “If you’re here to kill me, you’re late. I already had to sit through three hours of nobles pretending to mourn.”
A low chuckle. “Still as reckless as ever.”
I spun around. It was Rowan.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked different out of his armor—less soldier, more shadow. His expression softened when he saw the fatigue in my eyes. “I came as soon as I heard.”
“He’s alive,” I said quickly, “barely. And you shouldn’t be here. The council’s probably debating who gets your head next.”
“I don’t care about the council.” He stepped closer. “I care about you.”
I froze. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“The hero complex.” I turned back to the table, flipping through parchments. “If you’re here to make declarations, save them for a battlefield.”
He sighed. “You think I don’t know what’s happening? Darius has been feeding the nobles information—real or fake, I don’t know. Galgador’s already rallying support from the eastern houses. They think Lucian’s reign is ending.”
“Then I'll prove them wrong,” I said. “I will find who poisoned him, expose them, and make an example out of them.”
Rowan’s gaze softened. “Aria, you can’t stay here. They’ll come for you next.”
I looked up sharply. “Then they’ll regret not finishing the job.”
That shut him up. I don't know when or how Rowan was able to get her in and out unnoticed but one thing I knew, I don't care about anything right now. I don't want to think about who's who? And about Blood Moon Requiem. Or how in the world should I get out from this freaking novel. In my mind there is one thing, I need to save him.
Hours passed as I pieced through ledgers by candlelight. The same name kept appearing—Verris Wine Imports. They supplied the palace cellars for every banquet in the past month. And the most recent delivery?
The morning Lucian fell.
But before I could read further, a sound broke the stillness.
A soft clink.
A shadow moved at the far end of the aisle.
“Who’s there?” I called.
Silence.
I moved quietly, hand on the dagger hidden beneath my sleeve. The candle flickered. Then—
a flash of silver.
A goblet.
Someone had left it on the reading table. Half-full, the rim glinting faintly under the light.
And beside it—a note.
For Luna who dares to play queen.
He bleeds because he trusted.
My stomach turned to ice.
By the next evening, the castle was quieter. Too quiet.
Lucian still hadn’t woken. The healers whispered words like resistance and deterioration. Every minute felt borrowed.
I’d taken to sleeping in the chair beside his bed, parchment in my lap, dagger hidden in my sleeve.
If the poisoner came back to finish the job, I’d be waiting.
It was close to midnight when I heard the soft knock.
“Come in,” I said.
Lady Mirelle entered, holding a tray of tea. “You haven’t eaten all day, dear. I thought you could use something warm.”
Her smile was too wide. Too perfect.
My pulse slowed.
Her perfume—sweet jasmine. The same scent that lingered on Lucian’s goblet the day he collapsed.
I didn’t move. “You’re generous tonight, Lady Mirelle. I didn’t think you knew how to boil water.”
She laughed, setting the tray down. “It’s imported from Verris. The same blend His Majesty favored. You must try it.”
Verris.
Every instinct screamed.
I reached for the cup slowly, pretending to be calm. “How kind. But I’ve developed a distaste for shared flavors lately.”
“Oh?” Her eyes glittered. “That’s unfortunate.”
Her hand twitched—so subtle, I might’ve missed it. But her fingers brushed the rim of the cup, and I saw it: a faint shimmer, powder dissolving into the tea.
I didn’t drink.
Instead, I smiled sweetly. “You know, Lady Mirelle, you were right about nature taking its course.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
I set the cup back on the tray. “It does thin weeds first.”
Her mask slipped.
Just for a second—but it was enough.
She turned, too quickly, muttering something about the hour, and fled the room.
By the time I reached the corridor, she was gone.
But the tray remained, the tea untouched.
And when I poured it into the bowl near the hearth, the herbs reacted—turning the water black.
Dawn crept slowly across Dravenmoor. The first rays of sunlight spilled through the fractured window, landing across the bed.
Lucian stirred.
I almost didn’t believe it at first—the faintest movement of his fingers, the twitch of his lips. Then his eyes opened, silver and hazy.
“You look awful,” I said, voice breaking despite myself.
He blinked once, slow. “Still here?”
“Unfortunately for your poisoner, yes.” He tried to sit up. I pushed him back gently. “For now, don’t even think about it.”
His voice was a rasp. “Who?”
“You should rest first.”
“Keira, tell who?”
I sighed. Fine.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I have a name. A supplier. Verris Wine. And a woman with terrible taste in perfume.”
He gave a faint smile, almost ghostly. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m your Luna, apparently,” I muttered. “It comes with free paranoia.”
He coughed lightly, the sound weaker than before. “Keira.”
“What?”
“Trust no one.”
“I already don’t.”
His gaze softened, something human flickering beneath the exhaustion. “Good.”
The room fell silent again, but this time, it wasn’t fear—it was something else. Something fragile.
He reached for my wrist, his touch faint, almost uncertain. “You stayed.”
“Of course I did,” I said, forcing a smirk. “Who else is going to threaten nobles in your stead?”
“Careful,” he murmured, eyes closing again. “You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Tragic,” I whispered. “Next thing you know, I’ll start brooding by the windows.”
His lips curved faintly—but the strength didn’t return. Within moments, sleep claimed him again.
I sat there long after, staring at the morning light breaking across his face. Outside, the bells tolled for the dawn court assembly, but I didn’t move.
The poisoner was still out there. Smiling. Waiting.
And somewhere in this castle, another goblet was being filled.
I looked down at Lucian’s sleeping form and made another promise.
“You’ll wake to a kingdom unbroken,” I whispered.
“Even if I have to burn it to keep it that way.”
Outside, the light shifted.
For the first time in days, the sun reached the heart of the castle—
and I didn’t know whether it was blessing or warning.