The royal healer's voice echoed through the halls.
"She's stable. But barely."
Damian stood at the foot of Ariana's bed, motionless, his clenched fists soaked in blood—her blood. The scent of crushed violets and iron filled the air. She looked like a fallen star against the white silks, her skin pallid, lips barely pink. The poison had stolen her fire.
And someone had dared to do this under his roof.
He turned slowly. His silver eyes, once cold and calculating, now burned like moonfire—wild and volatile.
"Where is Kairo?"
The guards hesitated.
"WHERE—IS—HE?"
They scurried like frightened rats.
Damian's jaw tightened as he looked at Ariana again. He'd never begged before. Never prayed. But he had whispered her name over and over, like it was the only spell that could bring her back.
He had kissed her lips even as they trembled with fever, gripping her hand like a lifeline.
And now the only name on every servant's lips was Kairo.
Kairo, the loyal shadow from her past. Kairo, who once claimed to protect her. Kairo, who had handed her a wine cup hours before she collapsed.
A betrayal.
Or a setup.
Down in the dungeon, the chains bit into Kairo's wrists. Blood smeared his mouth. Yet his eyes—green as storm-lit seas—never lost their fire.
"I would never harm her," he growled as Damian entered.
"You handed her the poison," Damian said flatly. "You knew what was in the wine."
Kairo spat blood. "You want me to be guilty. So you don't have to admit your court is rotting from within."
Damian's blade rang free.
He pressed it to Kairo's throat.
"She could die."
"I'd die for her," Kairo whispered. "Can you say the same?"
The tip nicked skin. But Damian didn't strike.
Behind them, soft footsteps approached. A woman's voice, cracked with rage.
"Stop."
Ariana.
---
Her vision blurred as she leaned on the wall. The poison still crawled in her veins, but she forced herself forward.
"Damian, if you execute him without proof," she rasped, "you become the tyrant they fear you are."
Damian caught her as she stumbled.
His arms enveloped her gently. For once, there was no fire in his grip—only raw fear. He buried his face in her hair.
"I thought I lost you."
She clutched his chest. "Then don't make me lose someone else."
Kairo looked away, jaw tight. Pain shimmered in his eyes.
Later, alone in the war chamber, Damian stood before the shattered wine goblet.
"She was meant to die," he murmured. "But why now? The rebellion is over."
He traced a rune along the poisoned shard. A hidden sigil flared—the mark of the Crescent Fang, a secret faction that had once served the royal bloodline… until they betrayed it.
And Ariana bore that blood.