Chapter 4: Laced with Poison
1383 Words
Sylvie’s POV:
I sat at the long, polished dining table, the velvet of my gown brushing lightly against my legs each time I moved. The dress I wore this morning was a soft lilac, the fabric light but clinging to me in all the wrong places.
My maids had spent far too long lacing me into it, fussing with the cinch of my waist, pushing pads beneath my bust, painting my face like I was about to be sacrificed to a god of glitter.
They’d pinned my hair back in an elaborate twist, weaving white gardenia and lilac into a loose flower crown that curved like a crescent moon along my scalp. It was all for the birthday gala later, but this was only the day dress. I’d be forced into something more formal and structured by evening.
Joy.
Still, I wore the smile. I sat pretty. I played the part I’d been playing for ten years.
Sylvianne Argent.
I tilted my head slightly, the flower crown brushing my temples as I shifted focus down the long banquet table. Father sat at its head, straight-backed and regal as ever. King Rhaedon Argent. To most, he looked composed. Commanding, handsome and someone reverent.
To me? He looked like a stranger in wolfskin.
Beside him sat his queen, Ariadne Argent, and Ashborne’s birth mother. Delicate in appearance, draped in rich silks the color of blackberries, but I knew her tongue could slice like a dagger when her husband wasn’t around to smooth the sharp edges.
After all, she wasn’t Sylvainne’s mother. Her mother had died due to some unknown cause. I didn’t even know her name yet since no one was allowed to speak it in the royal castle.
I could feel her gaze flick toward me every now and then, a small smile playing on her painted lips.
“Arindale’s climate must be harsher this time of year,” Rhaedon said as he set down his goblet, turning to Ashborne. “You look a shade darker, son. Was the training worthwhile?”
Ashborne gave one of his famous regal smiles. “More than worthwhile, Father. I’ve kept sharp. And I’ve registered for the Valkharyn Competition this year.”
The room shifted slightly.
I kept my own expression perfectly still—but something deep inside me twisted.
Valkharyn.
The word echoed in my skull like a bell tolling in reverse. I could almost hear my mother’s voice from years ago, whispering of a sword sacred to our bloodline. The Valkharyn. The divine relic of the Dragon Kingdom. Stolen before the epidemic swept through Kranis like fire through dry grass. They said that sword once protected the capital, that without it, the disease spread like a curse, stripping the mighty dragon clans of their numbers and strength. Ninety percent of my kind perished in that wave of ruin.
The ten percent who remained… they settled in Dragon Valley.
Built new lives. Quiet lives.
Only for that peace to end in another blaze of betrayal.
Now they were gone too. Slaughtered. Enslaved.
And here I was, sitting at a table dressed in lilac, listening to my brother speak casually about a competition—a competition the wolves had created where warriors fought to win the Valkharyn.
As if it was a trophy.
As if it wasn’t ours to begin with.
I swallowed the fire building at the back of my throat.
“That’s bold,” the queen murmured with a smile. “The Arindale heir usually claims it, don’t they?”
Ashborne nodded with a shrug. “It’s stayed in Arindale for nearly a decade, yes. But Duke Kael’s son isn’t much for the sword. This year might be different.”
I couldn’t stop the words before they left my mouth.
“I’m sure it will be,” I said, all sweetness and silk.
“How has your morning been? Excited for the gala and potential suitors? You do look wonderful.” Ariadne smiled and Rhaedon nodded along.
“I am looking forward to it. However, it would be hard to find someone here who is better than brother. He’s made my standards so high.” I smiled even as my gut twisted.
The king chuckled indulgently. “Careful, daughter. Flattery works wonders, your brother’s ego might become bigger than his head.”
I laughed, too. Of course I did.
Inside?
My heart was burning.
He was going to fight for my relic. My people’s legacy.
And I was supposed to clap for him.
When breakfast ended, the table gradually cleared as everyone rose, murmuring polite farewells. The queen disappeared with her ladies. The king muttered something about council matters and was escorted out by guards.
I rose quietly, offering a curtsy, and excused myself to my chambers.
But I had no intention of staying inside.
Afternoons were the only time I truly breathed.
For the past year, I’d used this time to explore—sometimes sneaking into the royal libraries, though most of the relevant histories had been gutted. Anything about Kranis? Gone. Removed. Sanitized from public record like it never existed. So I looked elsewhere. I left the castle through the servant’s doors.
Merchant-run archives. Black market book stalls. Bars where travelers told stories.
Even fairytales held more truth than what lay behind the king’s gold-gilded doors.
I decided to go get changed so that I could leave when I heard it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I didn’t need to ask who it was. In the morning it had been unexpected but now I knew.
Ashborne always knocked like that.
I didn’t feel anything for him. Not love. Not fondness. A little curiosity. But more than that I felt wary.
Around him, I had to act. Had to play nice. I’d perfected the role of sweet, harmless little sister.
But now? After everything I’d remembered? Everything I’d seen?
That role felt like a noose.
“Enter,” I called, keeping my tone light.
The door opened, and Ashborne stepped in, a small box tucked under one arm. His posture was confident, but something flickered behind his eyes.
“I brought you something,” he said.
I raised a brow. “My gift?”
He nodded, taking a step forward—but didn’t offer the box.
I extended my hand. “Well? Are you going to keep me in suspense?”
He didn’t smile.
“Before I give it to you,” he said, “I need you to promise something.”
That gave me pause.
I tilted my head. “Promise?”
“Yes.” His gaze pinned me. “Use it carefully. Don’t touch the steel. Only the hilt. It’s not meant to be played with.”
My brow creased. That was… oddly specific.
I forced a smile, if only to keep the atmosphere light. “You make it sound like a cursed artifact.”
“Think of it like that if you must. But promise me,” he repeated, voice low.
“…Fine. I promise.”
Not that I planned to use it. I never used the gifts Ashborne gave me. Not as a child. Not now. Back then, I didn’t know why. I just had this instinct—this heavy feeling that if I accepted too much from him, I’d owe something I couldn’t pay back.
Now I understood.
My instincts had always known.
Ashborne represented everything the royal family did. Beautiful danger wrapped in gold.
I took the box, undoing the silver clasp. It opened with a soft click.
Inside?
A dagger.
Beautiful. Elegant. Deadly.
The hilt was bone-white and wrapped in crimson leather, its curve shaped perfectly for my grip. The sheath shimmered with faint enchantments.
But it wasn’t the design that made my pulse spike.
It was the scent.
I tilted my head slightly, narrowing my eyes as I leaned closer.
It was subtle. Faint. But unmistakable to anyone with senses as strong as dragons. Maybe wolves wouldn’t be able to tell. But unfortunately for him, I could.
Poison.
And Ashborne had given it to me with those soft eyes and careful words.
I wrapped my fingers around the hilt, keeping my expression neutral as I lifted it.
“So thoughtful,” I murmured.
He didn’t speak.
I looked up.
And found him staring at me.
His eyes dark.
- Writer
