Chapter 19 Arthur's Fear 2
SILVER'S POV
I arrived at the palace in the evening.
The journey had been long, and exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.
Arthur was waiting in the entrance hall.
That alone was strange. The Crown Prince didn't wait for anyone, least of all his wife.
"Silver." He came forward, and there was something different in his expression. Not quite a smile, but softer than I'd ever seen. "You're early."
"Yes." I handed my travel bag to a waiting servant. "My mother felt bad she didn't have time to prepare a proper meal during your visit. She sent cakes instead."
I handed him the box.
"That was kind of her." Arthur's voice was warm.
When had his voice ever been warm toward me?
I studied his face, looking for the trap. The angle. The reason behind this sudden courtesy.
But all I saw was... concern.
"I need to go to my chambers," I said carefully. "Rest before the summit preparations begin."
"Of course." He nodded, that strange almost-smile still in place. "We'll talk later. There are things we should discuss."
I walked away, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way down the corridor.
~ ~ ~
My chambers felt exactly as I'd left them.
Nothing like the warmth of House Noir's estate, despite that mansion's dark stone.
I dropped my bag on the bed and collapsed beside it, staring at the ceiling.
The palace felt different now. Emptier, somehow.
Maybe because Raven wasn't here.
I'd gotten used to his sudden appearances over the past two weeks.
Now the silence felt wrong.
I shook my head and sat up. I had bigger problems than missing my undead friend.
The Book of Awakening sat in my bag where I'd carefully packed it. Still stubbornly blank.
At this point, I was beginning to doubt myself.
"Destined for the Saintess," Little Silver had said during the ritual.
For Rosalie. The pure, chosen heroine who would steal Arthur's heart and live happily ever after while Silver got executed for daring to exist in her story.
I pulled the book out and opened it again, just to confirm what I already knew.
Blank pages stared back at me, mocking.
A thought struck me then. Dark and terrible and brilliant.
What if Rosalie never appeared?
What if I killed her before she could enter the story, before she could fulfill her role as the saintess, before she could take everything that was supposed to be mine?
Would the book work then? Would it have to choose a new reader?
Or would the Author intervene?
My heart raced. That was it. That was exactly it.
The Author wanted entertainment. Wanted me to "make it interesting." Every letter had been a taunt, a challenge, a reminder that I was just a puppet in their game.
Fine.
I'd give them interesting.
I'd kill the heroine.
The moment the thought solidified—the moment I truly considered it as a real possibility—I felt it.
That familiar cold presence. The sensation of being watched by something vast and amused.
A letter materialized on my desk, appearing from nothing like it always did.
I had a smirk on my face as I walked toward it. "Guess who showed up."
The envelope was cream-colored, expensive. My name was written in that elegant, mocking script I'd come to recognize.
I broke the seal.
~ ~ ~ ~
Dear Reader,
I must say, I'm impressed with your murderous little idea. How delightfully villainous of you. Finally embracing your role, are we?
Let's make this more interesting, shall we? A wager.
If you successfully kill the Saintess before she fulfills her role in this story, I will grant you her powers. All of them. The holy magic, the ability to read the Book of Awakening, even the powers you promised to your undead bodyguard.
Everything you've been desperately scrambling to obtain, handed to you on a silver platter.
But if you fail, if Rosalie survives to take her place as the heroine, you lose everything.
And by everything, I mean your life.
Do we have a deal?
—Your Lovely Author
Tick tock.
~ ~ ~ ~
Sweat formed on my forehead despite the cool evening air.
If what the Author said was true—and they'd never lied to me before, only twisted the truth—this was everything I needed.
The power to read the book. The ability to resurrect 'the witch' and fulfill my promise to Raven.
Everything.
But it was also obviously a trap.
The Author wanted me to become the villain for real. To actually commit the crime Silver was accused of in the original story. To prove that defending villainesses online was easy when you weren't the one making the impossible choices.
I'd be stupid not to see the trap. I wasn't desperate enough to kill someone just for power.
But for survival? That was different.
Maybe there was a loophole. The Author said "kill the Saintess before she fulfills her role."
But did the Author actually have the power to kill me directly? In the original story, Silver died at the Spring Ball — executed by Arthur for a crime she didn't commit.
If I was going to die anyway, maybe the Author's threat was empty. Or maybe I could use that knowledge somehow.
It was decided. I had to see Rosalie before I made any choices I couldn't take back.
A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.
"My lady?" A servant's voice through the door. "Dinner is ready. His Highness is waiting."
I looked at the letter one more time, then carefully folded it and tucked it into my desk drawer.
"I'll be there shortly."
~ ~ ~
The dining hall was set for two.
Just Arthur and me, sitting at opposite ends of a table meant for twenty. Intimate in the worst way. The kind of setup that forced conversation.
He was already seated when I arrived, and he stood when I entered — another strange courtesy that set my nerves on edge.
"Silver. Please, sit."
I took my seat, studying his face across the candles and elaborate place settings. He looked tense. More tense than he'd been in the entrance hall, as if he'd been working up to something.
We ate in silence for a moment. The food was elaborate — roasted meat, fresh bread, wine in crystal glasses that caught the candlelight.
"I haven't seen Raven," Arthur said finally, not quite meeting my eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you two were friends."
"We're not." His jaw tightened. "But I need to speak with him. It's something important."
"He's not here."
"Where is he?"
"Away. He said he'd be back tomorrow or the next day." I took a bite of meat, watching Arthur's reaction carefully. "Why? Why are you suddenly so interested in my vampire?"
A flicker crossed his face —w as it jealousy or concern? His grip on the fork grew tighter.
"I just need to talk to him," Arthur said evasively. "About... about one of our previous conversations."
Liar.
But I didn't push. I had my own secrets to keep.
I took another bite of the meat. It was good—perfectly seasoned, tender. The palace cooks knew their craft.
Then another bite.
The room began to tilt.
Just slightly at first. Like the floor had become a ship's deck in gentle waves.
I blinked, trying to focus. The candles blurred, their flames stretching into long streaks of light.
"Arthur?" My voice sounded distant. Wrong. Like it was coming from underwater.
His face went from tense to alarmed in an instant. "Silver? What's wrong?"
I tried to answer. Tried to tell him something was very wrong.
But my tongue felt thick. Heavy. My lips wouldn't form words.
The crystal wine glass slipped from my fingers. I watched it fall in slow motion, heard it shatter against the floor, but the sound was muffled. Distant.
Arthur was standing now. Moving toward me. His mouth forming words I couldn't hear.
Poison.
The thought cut through the fog with crystal clarity.
Someone had poisoned me.
My vision darkened at the edges, creeping inward like ink spreading across paper.
The darkness was too strong. Too heavy.
Arthur's horrified face was the last thing I saw.
Then everything went black.
And I fell into nothing.