Another palace servant joins us on the platform, balancing a tray with two silver goblets, as more servants flow through the crowd, distributing glasses of wine.
Torvil plucks the goblets from the tray, hands me one, then wraps an arm around my shoulder. He raises his glass, about to deliver another blowhard speech, when shocked gasps and rustling whispers interrupt him.
Lisande swaggers up the steps, clapping theatrically. She misses several times. “To the happy couple! The happiest of cou”—a wet hiccup—“couples.”
She pushes between me and Torvil, and god help me, my first instinct is to thank her. She stinks of wine and too much powdery perfume.
Lachlan races for the platform, but I still him with a slice of my chin. I do not believe Lisande means me any harm. She has no visible weapons. And more than anything, she looks broken.
“Lisande,” Torvil snarls, clutching her upper arm. “You’re ruining this.”
Her laugh is a bitter cackle. “It’s already ruined.” She snatches my wine, draining it in a long swallow. Ruby liquid trails down her chin, into her pale hair. She tosses the goblet aside. “Sheruined it. She ruined my—” She hiccups again, but this time it ends in a groan. “Ruined my—” A wet gurgle. Her eyes bulge wide.
She drops to her knees, clawing at her throat, her face purpling. Torvil jumps back and tucks me behind him before tossing his own goblet into the grass.
“Help her!” I shout to the celestial knights gathered at the crowd’s edges. Several rush the stage, but instead of assisting Lisande, they circle their master. Who’s in no danger whatsoever.
Watery blood leaks from Lisande’s nose, veins throb in her neck, and she collapses onto her back, choking down wet, wheezing gasps. Her hand flops on the planks, seeking something, anything, to cling to.
I grab it, offering what comfort I can in her final, painful moments. Torvil’s staring down at us, ringed by his knights, and the look on his face is so full of hatred, I block Lisande’s view of him. Were I in her position, I’d want to go to my grave believing the man I loved still held an ounce of affection for me.
Her hand slackens, and her struggle ends.
Courtiers rush the platform, jostling one another to gape at her. To see her death up close. They are horrid.
Just as horrid as their duke, who turns to his knights. “Get rid of the body. Immediately.”
My head swims as I stand, nearly knocked off the platform by the knights clamoring to do their duke’s bidding. One hauls Lisande’s corpse over his shoulder and the others fall into formation around him as they make their way toward the eastern side of the castle grounds.
Toward the báshound paddock.
I shudder, then search for Lachlan. He’s interrogating the duke’s valet, demanding to know who had access to the goblets before the toast.
It hits me like a blast of winter wind. The wine in the goblet was poisoned.Mygoblet.
Someone has tried to kill me again. And it certainly was not Lisande LaBeaumont.
All I want to do is run to Lachlan, have him sweep me into his strong arms and make me forget everything about this wretched night.
Cold fingers upon my elbow startle me.
“Atrocious,” Torvil says. “A perfectly wonderful engagement party sullied by a murder attempt and a hysterical woman. Those damn anti-monarchists again, no doubt.”
I clench my jaw. I want to use some of those moves Lachlan’s been teaching me in the Eyrie to punch Torvil’s teeth out. Has he no trace of sympathy for his former lover?
“Well, at least we have tomorrow night,” he says.
“What’s tomorrow night?”
“Your farewell dinner.” He lifts my hand, rubbing his thumb over the crescent moon in my ring. “It will be difficult to say goodbye, but hopefully we will see each other again on Mabon.”
Hopefully. In all the chaos of this evening, I had almost forgotten there’s still one fragment to find. One last duke to win over.
“I am sure your delicate feminine sensibilities have been quite trod upon by all this excitement.” He places my hand in the crook of his elbow. I didn’t realize it was possible to feel such volcanic levels of anger. I congratulate myself for not stomping his foot and running away screaming. “I will walk you back to your quarters to rest.”
I don’t even have the strength to protest.
But my rage quells slightly when Lachlan falls into step behind us. He doesn’t say a word; he’s just quietly there.
