Chapter 24 The Poisoned Gift
The siege left Noctara trembling.
The breach at the eastern wall was plugged with timber and stone, but everyone knew it was a wound that would never heal. Soldiers carried the scars of the last fight broken bones, burns, poisoned cuts that lingered even after the healers’ touch. And though they had held, the fortress felt hollow, brittle, as if one more strike might shatter it completely.
Yet in the silence after the battle, Lyra noticed a change.
When she walked the halls, soldiers straightened. When she entered the yard, conversations hushed. Where once there had been sneers and mutters, now there were nods. Some were stiff, some reluctant, but they were there.
The breach had made her theirs.
But it had also made her a target.
The first sign came as a gift.
A soldier stopped her in the courtyard, a young man with bandages across his chest. He bowed awkwardly, his voice trembling. “My lady. This came for you. No name, just… left at the gate.”
Lyra frowned, accepting the small bundle wrapped in black cloth. Inside was a silver pendant, its chain delicate, its center a ruby that glowed faintly in the torchlight.
Her claws twitched as she held it. The stone pulsed faintly, too alive to be harmless.
Cassien appeared at her side without a sound, his gaze sharp. “Where did this come from?”
The soldier stammered. “II don’t know. It was waiting by the gate. I thought”
“Go,” Cassien commanded. The man fled, relief etched on his face.
Lyra held the pendant up. “What is it?”
Cassien’s jaw tightened. “Poison. Not for your blood for your soul.”
Her eyes widened. “A curse?”
He nodded once. “Lucien’s work. I’d know his stench anywhere.”
Lyra’s stomach twisted. She dropped the pendant to the ground and crushed it under her boot. The ruby cracked with a hiss, black smoke curling into the air before vanishing.
Cassien’s gaze lingered on her. “He’s not trying to kill you, Lyra. He’s trying to own you.”
The words chilled her more than the smoke.
The next night, more gifts appeared.
A black rose left outside her chamber door. A dagger etched with strange runes found in the training yard. A chalice of blood-wine delivered to her table at supper, rich and sweet but reeking faintly of rot.
Each was poison. Each was meant for her.
And each one carried Lucien’s laughter in its silence.
The fortress began to whisper again. Some said the gifts meant she was cursed, that the wolves themselves sought her. Others whispered darker — that she had called them, that Lucien’s shadow stretched from her to the walls.
The weight of their stares pressed heavier than any blade.
One night, Lyra found herself alone in the war room. The maps spread before her blurred as her thoughts twisted.
What if Maeron had been right? What if she was the crack? Every gift, every curse, was aimed at her. How many more would die because of her presence here?
Her claws dug into the table, wood splintering beneath her grip.
“Doubt is a poison too.”
She turned sharply. Cassien stood in the doorway, his eyes burning in the dim torchlight.
“You’ve seen it,” she said bitterly. “The gifts. The whispers. They think I’m cursed.”
“They’ve always thought that,” he replied. “What matters is what you do with it.”
Her chest ached. “What if they’re right?”
He crossed the room, stopping before her. His presence was heavy, unyielding. “Then let the curse be theirs. Not yours. Every time you bleed and stand again, every time you fight and do not fall, you turn their fear into chains that bind them to you. That is power. Take it.”
His hand brushed her chin, lifting her eyes to his. “Do not let him break you from within. That is what Lucien wants.”
Lyra swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe. She wanted to believe him. Needed to.
But the shadows of Lucien’s gifts lingered, whispering promises she dared not name.
Far beyond the walls, Lucien sat by Damon’s fire, his black armor gleaming, his smile faint.
Cersei lounged nearby, her golden hair shining in the firelight, her eyes sharp with amusement. “You send her baubles like a lover, and she breaks them like a child. What game is this, Lucien?”
Lucien twirled a silver chain in his fingers, the ruby at its center glowing faintly. “Not a game. A reminder.”
Damon growled low. “We need her dead. Not distracted.”
Lucien’s smile sharpened. “Oh, but don’t you see? Death would free her. Fear would drive her closer to Cassien. But temptation…” He leaned back, his eyes glowing red. “Temptation binds deeper than steel. One day, she will take a gift she cannot destroy. And then she will be mine.”
Maeron spat into the fire, his face twisted with hatred. “She’ll never bow to you. She’ll fight until she burns.”
Lucien’s grin curved cruel. “Then I’ll make her burn for me.”
Days bled into nights, the gifts continuing. Some she found. Some the soldiers found. A few nearly reached her lips before she noticed the stench.
The whispers grew sharper. Soldiers began to avoid her, stepping aside quickly, muttering prayers under their breath. Ral stayed near, but even he looked uneasy at times.
Lyra felt the walls closing in.
One night, she sat in her chamber, staring at a silver goblet left on her table. She hadn’t touched it, hadn’t dared. But its surface gleamed, the blood inside rich and dark, the scent tugging at her hunger.
Her claws twitched.
One sip, a voice whispered in her mind. One sip, and you’ll feel whole. Stronger. Free.
Her chest heaved. She reached for it
Cassien’s voice cut through the haze. “Lyra.”
She froze, her claws inches from the goblet.
Cassien stood in the doorway, his gaze steady, his voice low. “You cannot fight Lucien by becoming him.”
The haze broke. Lyra snarled and hurled the goblet against the wall. Blood splattered, the goblet clanging across the stone.
She sank to her knees, trembling. “I almost”
“You didn’t,” Cassien said. He stepped closer, his presence grounding. “That’s what matters.”
Her throat tightened. “How long can I fight it?”
“As long as you must.”
Outside the walls, Lucien lifted a goblet of his own, drinking deeply. The ruby on its side pulsed faintly, its glow spreading across his smile.
He licked his lips, his eyes glowing.
“Drink, little wolf,” he murmured. “One day, you will.”