A servant approaches with a silver goblet. Vesha takes it, her hands shaking so badly that the liquid nearly spills. It’s a remarkable performance. She slips the vial from her sleeve, her movements quick and practiced, and empties its contents into the wine.
"My people," she begins, her voice carrying to every corner of the hall, clear and strong. "When I came to this stronghold, I was afraid. I was a stranger in a strange land, a tribute sent to satisfy a treaty. I did not know what to expect, only what my fears whispered to me in the dark. But you did not treat me like a tribute. You treated me like a guest, and then... like family. You have shown me a kindness I did not know existed. For that, I am eternally grateful. In this short time, I have come to love these mountains, this stronghold, and its people. You have given me a home. You have given me a mate."
I scan the hall and find them—the human envoys, watching from a side table, their faces tight with anticipation. They are here to see their plan come to fruition.
"And you gave me children to love and protect," she says, and her voice breaks with genuine emotion. "And I would do anything to protect this clan. Anything to keep our children safe."
She meets my eyes, and in her gaze I see love and regret and terrible, terrible purpose.
"I love you," she whispers, the words meant for me alone but carrying clearly in the absolute silence. "I love all of you."
"Vesha, no—" My protest is part of the script, torn from my throat.
But I'm too late. She's already bringing the goblet to her lips. The potion disappears in three quick swallows, and then the cup is falling from nerveless fingers to shatter against the stone floor.
She staggers immediately, the draught hitting her system. I catch her as she collapses, her body already beginning to convulse.
The hall erupts into pandemonium. A woman screams. I hear the shriek of steel as a warrior draws his blade, roaring an accusation at the stunned human delegation.
I let the roar rip from my throat, a sound of pure rage to sell the lie. "SILENCE!" The hall instantly stills. They need to believe this. Her life, and the lives of our children, depend on it. "Korven! Get every healer in the stronghold. NOW!"
The old shaman rushes forward. "What is this? I smell no poison!" he hisses, his weathered hands already glowing with the pale light of healing magic.
"I don't know," I snarl back, pitching my voice for those nearby. "Find out! Her heart slows, her breath fails, but it is no venom I recognize!"
Amidst the chaos, I grab Captain Bren, my grip like iron on his arm. "Listen to me," I hiss, my voice a low command that cuts through his panic. "The Queen is not dying. It's a ruse. Take your five best scouts—shadows, not soldiers. Go to the eastern watchtower. The human envoys are there with Lavi and Jorik. I want our children back and the envoys alive for questioning. Go now. Be unseen."
Bren's eyes widen in understanding, then narrow with deadly focus. He gives a single, sharp nod and disappears into the crowd.
I turn my attention back to my mate, limp in my arms. "Hold on," I whisper against her hair, for the benefit of those nearby. "Hold on, my brave queen."
"Search her chambers," I snap at Elder Thrakk, desperation making my voice rough. "Look for anything—notes, preparations, anything that might tell us what she took or how to counter it."
A few minutes later, Korven looks up from his work, his face grim but carrying a thread of hope. "We found instructions hidden in her jewelry box, my lord. A formula for a revival stimulant. She must have anticipated this."
Good,I think, relief cutting through the rage.She left them a trail to follow.
"Then save her," I command, holding her close as healers swarm around us. "Save my queen."
In the distance, I imagine five shadows slipping out into the night. They'll bring the clan’s children home. My mate is a queen of impossible courage.
And now, all I can do is pray her calculations were correct.
VESHA
Consciousness returns in fragments—warmth against my back, the steady rhythm of breathing that isn't my own, the familiar scent of leather and mountain storms that means safety. I'm alive, which surprises me more than it should.
My throat feels like I've been swallowing broken glass, and my limbs have the unsteady weakness of someone who's been bedridden for days. But the bond mark at my throat pulses with steady warmth, and the arms around me tighten when I stir.
"Finally," Ghazrek's voice rumbles against my ear, rough with relief and something darker. "Three days you've been unconscious. Three days I've been planning exactly how to kill every human who had a hand in this."
"The children," I croak, my voice barely recognizable. "Lavi and Jorik?—"
"Safe." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "My warriors brought them home two hours after you collapsed. Scared but unharmed. They thought they were helping with a surprise for their Queen Lady."
Guilt coils in my stomach, heavy and cold as a stone. "I put them in danger. My choice to hide what was happening?—"
"Your choice saved their lives," he corrects, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "The humans would have killed them the moment they outlived their usefulness. You gave them value as leverage, then removed yourself as a threat before they could be discarded."
