Lark’s POV
The scent was off.
I had only meant to pass through the hall, but the moment I neared the tray on the table outside Mark’s chambers, something stopped me. The tea was still steaming, untouched. A single porcelain cup, dark liquid swirling faintly inside.
I leaned in.
It wasn’t the usual wolfroot blend the kitchen prepared during council weeks. No mint, no cedar. Instead, there was a strange undertone, a sharp, metallic, almost medicinal smell.
I dipped a finger into the cup, sniffed it again, then rubbed the liquid between my fingers. Sticky. A faint tingle ran up my skin.
Poison?
My gut twisted.
“Guards!” I barked.
Within seconds, boots thundered down the corridor. Two sentries appeared, stiffening my tone.
“Take this to the healer. Now. And no one is to drink anythin
