Charlotte descended the final step of the dais, the velvet pouch clutched tight in her hand. Her gaze swept the feast table—dozens of goblets, identical in cut and gleam, arranged neatly on a spread of blue silk. The wine had already been poured. The toast would be called at any moment.
Elias reached her first.
"Poison," she whispered, slipping him the ghostroot sprig. "In the wine. Someone plans to finish me off tonight."
Elias's expression darkened. "We can't accuse anyone. Not without proof."
"Then let's find proof," she said, tugging off her gloves. "Or delay the toast."
Mira appeared beside them, her hands flashing rapid signs:Three guards by the wine. One steward. One server left early—too early. Suspicious.
Charlotte's mind clicked into motion. "Follow the steward. Discreetly. Elias—collect a sample from each goblet. We'll cross-check with Amelia."
"No sudden moves," Elias warned. "Whoever planned this is watching."
Charlotte lifted her chin. "Then let them watch me rule while I still draw breath."
She strode to the center of the hall, her voice ringing clear as a bell. "My dear nobles and honored guests—what a glorious evening! And in keeping with tradition, we shall toast…" She paused, smiling like a queen bestowing a gift. "After the ceremonial first dance of the kingdom's healers!"
A fiction. Utterly absurd.
But her tone made it law. The musicians hesitated—then struck a chord. Murmurs rose, confused, but applause followed. The charade held.
At the wine table, Mira vanished into the shadows. Elias approached with casual grace, laughing with the guards, palming two goblets, and replacing them with flawless duplicates from an untouched tray.
Behind the dais, Amelia had already unpacked her apothecary kit, hands moving with terrifying efficiency. "Quick," she snapped, taking the samples. She dipped a hair-thin silver needle into the wine, passed it through flame, then touched it to a strip of moonflower paper.
The first test strip hissed.
Blue smoke spiraled upward.
"Ghostroot," Amelia confirmed, voice low. "And fresh. It wasn't in the barrel. Someone added it afterward. One goblet only."
Elias's jaw tightened. "Charlotte's?"
Amelia gave a grim nod. "She would've drunk it in minutes."
Just then, Charlotte slipped into the alcove, her skirt clutched in her fists. "Then we know the target."
"We just don't know whose hand poured it," Elias said. "Or who gave the order."
A scream rang out from the hall.
Mira burst in, signing urgently:The steward tried to flee. We caught him. He passed a ring to a noble—silver, crest engraved underneath.
Charlotte snatched a quill and parchment from a side table and wrote swiftly:Bring me the steward. And find whose crest is on that ring. No matter how high they sit at this table.
She handed the note to Mira, who was already gone.
Elias looked at Charlotte. "You saved yourself again."
She met his eyes, a flicker of exhaustion beneath her practiced smile. "No, Elias. We did."
Amelia exhaled, already gathering more tools. "Give me five minutes and I can concoct something that makes anyone who drank ghostroot sweat black tears."
Charlotte nodded. "Then tonight, we drink with caution."
Her voice turned to iron.
"And tomorrow—we bleed out the traitor in gold."