"Remember," Síocháin said quietly, "he needs to believe you've chosen him. That you want to be there. If you tense, if you pull away—"
"I won't." Briar stood, the silk moving with her like a second skin. She checked the vial in its hidden pocket, feeling its small weight against her hip. "I convinced him in the garden. I can convince him tonight. And once we're alone, once he's distracted..." She took a breath. "The wine will help. I'll let him think he's won, drink the bloodshade when he's ready to feed, and then it's over."
"Briar." Síocháin caught her arm. "Whatever happens tonight, whatever he asks of you—the goal is to survive long enough to act. Don't forget that."
Something in her tone made Briar pause. "You sound like you're warning me about more than seduction."
Síocháin's ancient eyes held hers for a long moment. "I'm warning you that Malus never does what you expect. Be ready to adapt."
Before Briar could press further, a knock at the door made them both jump.
"Lord Malus requests your presence," a servant called.
Síocháin squeezed her hand once, then slipped out the servant's entrance. Briar took one last look at her reflection—the exposed skin, the dress that promised everything, the face painted to hide terror—and followed the servant into the hall.
She could do this. A private dinner, the special wine to calm her nerves, and a plan that would end with Malus unconscious and Eliam free. She just had to be convincing for a few hours.
The vial pressed against her hip with each step, a secret weight that would either save them or destroy them all.
The servant led her through corridors she didn't recognize, away from the private wing where she'd expected to dine. Briar's steps faltered as they turned down a wider hallway, one lined with torches and decorated with autumn leaves that rustled despite no breeze.
"Where are we going?" she asked, but the servant didn't answer, just kept walking with that blank-faced efficiency all of Malus's staff seemed to share.
The noise reached her before the doors did. Voices, dozens of them, the clink of glasses and murmur of conversation. Her heart began to pound.
No. This was wrong. This was supposed to be private.
The servant pushed open the great doors, and Briar's carefully constructed composure shattered.
The entire court was assembled. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, filled with fae lords and ladies in their finest attire. Candles floated overhead, casting everything in warm golden light that made the scene look almost beautiful if you didn't notice the hungry eyes turning toward her. At the head of the room, elevated on a dais, sat Malus in a throne-like chair, watching her with an expression of pure, delighted anticipation.
There was no private table. No bottle of wine with a nick on the label. No intimate setting where she could control the situation.
She'd been played.
"Ah, there she is." Malus's voice carried across the sudden silence. He gestured with one hand, a lazy beckoning. "Come, pet. I've been telling everyone how eager you were to join us tonight."
Every eye in the room fixed on her. She felt their gazes pressing against her exposed skin, the plunging neckline, the dress that suddenly felt like nothing at all.
Move, she told herself. You have to move.
Her legs carried her forward somehow, silk whispering against her thighs with each step. The vial pressed against her hip, useless now. There would be no private moment to drink it, no opportunity to let Malus feed while she was drugged. Everything she'd planned was worthless.
The walk to the dais felt endless. Fae whispered as she passed, their words just loud enough to catch.
"...the human pet..."
"...heard she begged him in the garden..."
"...wonder how long before he tires of her..."
Briar kept her chin up, kept her expression smooth. Malus wanted her broken and desperate. She wouldn't give him that. Not yet.
She reached the dais and stopped, unsure what to do. There was no chair for her, no place set at his table. Just Malus, lounging in his throne, watching her with those calculating eyes.
"You look disappointed," he said softly, pitched for her ears alone. "Were you expecting something more... intimate?"
"I was expecting dinner." She was proud of how steady her voice came out.
