I’d never even spoken a word to Percy, not that I could; for all I knew, all could be remedied if he only got to know me as a person.
Of course, he hadn’t extended me the same courtesy. He didn’t know me beyond occasional glances over supper. He tried to have me taken, and when that failed, he went on as though nothing had happened.
My heart gradually steadied. Removing Percy from the picture—murdering him,I amended—might prevent future attempts on not only my own life, but the lives of other members of the royal family. Bit by bit, I came to terms with the justice of it, but such rationalization did little to quell the tears when they came.
Castle Altaigne had corrupted me in mere weeks. The face in the mirror, painted and absurd beneath its courtly mask, belonged to a stranger.
When Winnie returned to help me prepare for supper, I’d already composed myself. The botanical compendium was put away on the table, and I’d freshly painted a new coat of white on my cheeks to conceal any evidence of my distress. Then I revealed to her a collection of sachets that were almost identical to one another, keeping the truth buried deep within my heart.
The court’s suppertime conversation ebbed and flowed around me. My collection of sachets was tucked into an ornamental box, nestled away in my lap and waiting for the right moment.
I couldn’t help but peek over at Percy to give him one last attempted judge of character. The man sat brooding, his short blond hair kept long enough in the front to partially obscure a leering set of olive-green eyes. He only looked my way once, our gaze just barely meeting before he sneered and turned away with palpable contempt.
Fuck you too, then,I thought, but the words felt weak.
When the servants began to bring in fruits and sweetmeats, I caught Winnie’s eye and gave her a practiced nod.
“If I may,” Winnie stood, her smile more cheerful than usual. She’d latched onto my false plan with enthusiasm, believing the next move would evoke a positive reaction from our peers within the court and, hopefully, elevate my reputation. “My lady wishes to share something special.”
I lifted the box and displayed the sachets for all to see.
“For those who may not know, Lady Chastain hails from a distinguished line of apothecaries. She’s prepared a special digestive tea: a countryside specialty that promotes health after meals both rich and quaint.”
I rose, moving with deliberate composure around the table. One by one, I offered the sachets with a demure smile, my eyes avoiding Percy’s as I placed one particular packet beside his goblet. Each tea appeared identical: fragrant blends of chamomile, linden, and elderflower. Only Percy’s contained the carefully measured addition of white hellebore.
Winnie continued her cheerful explanation with a complete lack of awareness for the deception. “This family remedy is renowned in Finn’s Hollow. Lady Chastain thought it a fitting way to share her heritage with the court that has so graciously welcomed her.”
I returned to my seat, heart thundering beneath a placid exterior. Soon enough, I’d witness the outcome of my misdeed.
My eyes briefly met the prince’s. He seemed impressed with the act of kindness, not at all suspicious. When the hot water finally came around, he was the first to take a sip. His eyes crinkled at the corners. For that brief moment, he was unburdened, perhaps even nostalgic. I noticed a dimple in his smile, one I’d missed up to now. It was almost endearing.
The courtiers applauded my efforts. Percy didn’t clap, but he did drink; in fact, he drank it all down quickly, pairing it with a scone to sweeten the bitter flavors of the tea. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then reached for some candied grapes.
To cover my tracks, I made myself a poison of much weaker dosage, and as it stained the water, I readied myself for what was to come. Somehow, I willed myself to drink it down, my fingers trembling on the teacup all the while.
I tried not to make my observation of Percy apparent. I found elsewhere to look between stolen glances, watching others at the table. My eyes landed on Lord Quinn, merely a random glimpse and not for any particular purpose, but he exuded such an aura of suspicion that I couldn’t turn away. I tried to put him at ease with a smile, but the viscount didn’t play along. Those black eyes glared right back at me.
He glanced pointedly from my hands to Percy’s teacup, brow climbing in silent inquiry. When I finally tore my eyes away, Lord Quinn’s gaze only intensified, boring into me with such knowing precision that I felt stripped bare. I half-expected him to announce what I’d done.
His focus shifted to Percy. Beneath the table, I clutched my skirts.
Percy wiped again at his mouth, then at the beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. He reached for his goblet with trembling hands, his complexion paling.
“Gods,” Percy muttered, the rare sound of his voice making the room fall quiet. He looked up as if surprised that he’d spoken, then slapped a hand over his mouth and stood so abruptly that his chair fell backwards.
Queen Adelaide braced her hands on the table. Her brow pinched, a rare moment of emotion in her otherwise unreadable face. “What is the matter, nephew?”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I—”
Vomit spewed across the table. There was a loud scraping of chairs as the courtiers hurried to get away. Percy seized his neighbor by the shoulders and threw him aside, running for the door.
He doubled over near the entrance to the dining hall, stomach churning loudly. I gasped and covered my mouth, leaning closer to Winnie for some sense of protection from the horror. I knew his tea would work quickly, but now I found myself hoping, selfishly, that the man would not die in front of me.
Percy clutched his stomach, and a terrible expulsion of his bowels echoed through the room. The evidence was quickly apparent, dribbling down his leg and staining the back of his cream-colored breeches. A complete sense of mortification washed over him, and he collapsed.
Someone screamed. I buried my face in Winnie’s shoulder, but I couldn’t shield myself from the sounds of Percy’s suffering. My gut clenched in a twisted mirror of his agony as I grappled with revulsion and my own vindication. That satisfaction horrified me more than the poisoning itself.
A cold sweat dampened my powdered brow. I thought of my parents, who had urged me to kill him. Would they still approve now, if they had to sit and watch?
