What would it cost me? I could carry his child long enough to escape. I had lied before. I could lie again.
“But,” I added, lifting my chin, “if I promise you this, I need something in return.”
Raul chuckled darkly, his upper lip curling into a sneer. “You’re innoposition to bargain, darling.”
“It’s a small request,” I said, voice smooth but steel-laced. “I only need some of your poison.”
His brow arched. “Poison?”
“There’s someone I need to kill,” I replied calmly. “She lives far in the future.”
He tilted his head, his tongue grazing the corner of his mouth as if savoring the idea—savoringhis power over me.
“We’ll see,” he said at last, voice thick with implication. “Let’s see how things go between us. Then… I might grant you this one favor.”
I exhaled, concealing my revulsion behind a mask of compliance. I had no other option. Not yet.
But one day, he would regret making me play this game.
Chapter 43
Alina
In 16th-century Italy, courtship was a slow, elaborate dance governed by tradition and codes of etiquette. True to his word, Raul adhered to every custom with religious precision. As the weeks unfolded, he lavished me with gifts—crystal necklaces that caught the light like frozen starlight, and bouquets of handpicked roses that perfumed our rooms with velvet sweetness.
Each day brought a new letter, his elegant handwriting spilling declarations of love and longing, written with the flourish of a man trained in nobility but fueled by obsession.
Raul often dropped to one knee when we were together and kissed my hand as if I were royalty incarnate. He ensured every need was met before I could voice it—whether wine, silk, or silence. He wrapped me in reverence, and for once, I allowed myself to be worshipped without guilt.
We made love often—and when we weren’t making love, we fucked with reckless abandon.
Within weeks, I was pregnant.
I no longer needed to fuss with those viscous, sticky diaphragms or the messy ritual of inserting spermicide. There was no need to prevent what I now craved. I welcomed the child growing inside me. I embraced the idea of carrying Raul’s heir.
I was especially shocked when I learned the family’s superstition—that if the firstborn were a son, he would inherit his mother’s nature.
I couldn’t wait to see signs ofmein the child. Darkness. Power. Control.
Raul’s arms became my sanctuary. I hadn’t felt that kind of security in decades. The lingering ghosts of Zara and the Scholar faded with each passing night, their distant threats dissolving in the warmth of Raul’s touch.
For the first time in a long time, I felt content. Not just safe, but powerful—like the chaos of my past had finally bent to my will.
Since the day I arrived, I had begged Raul to teach me the art of poison. But he had forbidden it—“Not while you’re carrying my heir,” he’d said, as if knowledge itself could leech through my womb and harm the child.
But now that Angelo was born, Raul finally turned to me with a gleam and said, “Today’s the day, my queen.”
I rocked Angelo gently in his lavish nursery, his tiny eyes mesmerized by the ceiling mural of cherubic angels frolicking with lambs among pastel flowers. The scene made my stomach churn. I’d protested such innocence being smeared across our son’s first world, but Raul had won that battle—for now.
One day, when Angelo began showing signs of his true nature, I’d have the entire ceiling repainted—this time with demons tearing angel heads from their necks.
“What day is that, my love?” I asked, keeping my voice soft as I swayed with our child.
Raul smiled and stepped closer, his tone reverent. “The day I give you what you asked for. When you first came, you wanted to kill someone with poison. I told you we’d see. And now, after all you’ve given me, you’ve earned it. Today, I will take you to the Phytomancer’s Den and teach you to craft your own.”
He dropped to one knee, took my hand, and kissed it ceremonially.
A shiver of delight danced along my spine.
