Trapped In My Own Novel

The Investigation

Heart racing, Ysabel bowed low, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Your Majesty, the tea was not poisoned. If it were, both pins would have blackened in the cup. But when I tested directly from Consort Mabella’s mouth, the silver reacted. That means something else she consumed is producing a poisonous effect in her body—especially dangerous because she carries a child. Whatever she ate with the tea is to blame.”

Murmurs rippled through the room. Some looked stunned, others skeptical, but all eyes flicked nervously toward the Sea God.

For the first time, his expression shifted—not softened, but sharpened, like the strike of a predator considering its prey. His gaze lingered on Ysabel, unreadable, as though reassessing the woman he had dismissed as useless.

“Interesting,” he said at last, though the word carried more threat than praise. “But talk is not proof. If you claim another cause, then you will uncover it before me. Fail, and I will personally see your body cast into the abyss.”

Ysabel’s blood ran cold.

Her reprieve had only bought her a sharper noose.

The chamber was heavy with silence as Ysabel rose on trembling legs and turned to Mabella’s maid.

“Bring me the tray,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “The one her lady left unfinished.”

The maid, pale and hesitant, hurried to obey. Moments later, a servant carried in the tray. Upon it lay delicate confections and, most prominently, a plate of sandwiches layered with soft seafoam bread, glistening pearls of sauce, and slices of golden moonfin fruit—a delicacy that shimmered faintly under the light, its aroma both sweet and strangely sharp. Tempting enough to devour at once.

Whispers rose among the watching consorts.

Ysabel wasted no time. She tore a piece of the sandwich apart with trembling fingers and crushed it into a cup of plain water. Then, without hesitation, she turned toward Consort Pinnah.

“Lend me your hairpin, if you please.”

Pinnah blinked, startled, her hands tightening in her lap. Unlike Loira, she was not openly hostile, but nor did she wish to be dragged into the scandal. Still, under the Sea King’s silent, watchful gaze, she swallowed hard and slid the silver pin from her hair, passing it forward.

Ysabel dipped it into the water and withdrew it slowly.

The silver tip had blackened.

Gasps exploded through the chamber.

“She—she’s right!”

“It wasn't the tea at all!”

“Then the sandwiches—”

Ysabel knelt again, facing the Sea King with her heart hammering. “Your Majesty, the sandwich is the true culprit. It must have been made with toxic ingredients that react fatally when combined with sea-mist flowers. Because Consort Mabella is with child, her body weakened and the poison struck her harder. That is why her symptoms resembled poisoning from the tea.”

The Sea God’s face was unreadable, his deep indigo eyes fixed on her. His silence was far more terrifying than anger.

On his throne of black coral, the Sea King sat in silence. His expression did not shift, yet something stirred in his gaze.

He had long grown accustomed to Consort Ysabel's petty cruelty—the way she clawed for favor by scheming against the others, her tongue sharp with malice, her ambition graceless. She had been little more than a nuisance rather than the gift of peace offered to him by the southern se , a shadow forever lurking at the edge of his patience .

But the woman kneeling before him now… was not that woman.

She was pale with fear, yes, trembling under the weight of his gaze—but there was no venom in her words, no desperation to shift blame. Instead, there was a strange clarity. A precision. She spoke as if her life was balanced on the edge of a blade, yet she did not flinch.

What is this thing about you, Ysabel?

His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to study her bowed figure. Was it fear that drove this performance? Or something else—something deeper, yet unseen?

It was something… unfamiliar.

Almost as if you are not the same woman at all. He thought.

Why the long silence? Is he still thinking of killing me? Ysabel thought, her pulse quickening. But she pressed on. There was no turning back.

“I suggest,” Ysabel said, lowering her gaze again, “that she be given warm jelly-honey tea at once. It will ease her body and force the toxins to expel.”

A wave of murmurs swept the chamber. No one dared contradict her—not while the Sea King had yet to dismiss her words.

“Do as she says,” he commanded at last, his voice sharp enough to cut the air.

Within moments, the steaming tea was prepared and brought in. The maid helped Mabella drink. For a tense heartbeat nothing happened—then Mabella’s body convulsed, and she vomited a stream of black, foul-smelling liquid onto the basin provided. The sight drew horrified gasps, a few consorts covering their mouths.

Her eyelids fluttered shut once more.

Ysabel moved quickly, pressing her fingers to Mabella’s wrist. Relief surged through her when she felt it: stronger, steadier than before.

“She will recover,” Ysabel said softly, almost smiling despite her shaking hands. “The danger has passed.”

The chamber erupted again in shocked whispers.

On the dais, the Sea God leaned back slightly, for the first time in years, a ripple of curiosity disturbed the still waters of his heart..

Then, his gaze sliding from Mabella to the other women gathered. His voice was low, but it rolled across the chamber like the tide itself.

“Who brought this food to her?”

Silence.