The study door closed with a soft click, sealing the lock.
The noise of the banquet and the music from the Great Hall vanished at once, replaced by a suffocating silence. The room was cold, lit only by the trembling glow of an oil lamp. Its walls were lined with thick books and military strategy maps—the place where Alaric usually planned the future defenses of his land.
But tonight, his defenses were breached not on the battlefield, but within his own home.
Alaric threw himself into the wooden chair behind his desk. He braced his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were rigid, bearing the sudden weight crashing down on him.
"Explain," Alaric ordered. His voice came from behind his palms—muffled, yet sharp.
Sir Baldr stood straight before his lord's desk. The old knight's face showed no emotion, but his eyes held deadly seriousness.
"The situation is dire, Young Lord," Baldr reported without preamble.
"When I arrived, Lady Eloise was already unconscious. Fresh blood was still flowing from her nose—not an ordinary nosebleed. The blood was pitch black."
Alaric slowly lowered his hands. His ruby eyes locked onto Baldr.
"And that is not all," Baldr continued, lowering his voice.
"On her neck and nape… dark purple veins have appeared, pulsing beneath her skin. Her breathing is shallow and ragged, as if her lungs are being crushed by an unseen hand."
BAM!
Alaric slammed his fist onto the desk.
"That makes no sense! Eloise was perfectly healthy this afternoon! She even laughed with me before the feast began!"
"The court physician has confirmed it, my lord," Baldr said quickly but respectfully.
"This is not an illness. It is poison. A slow-acting poison that attacks the nervous and respiratory systems. We have not yet identified it."
"Poison…" Alaric repeated in disbelief.
"Who? Who would dare poison a thirteen-year-old lady who threatens no one, inside Castle Vaelcryss?"
His mind raced. Eloise had been fine earlier. When dinner began, she was still normal. Then—
Alaric's eyes widened. His pupils shrank as the truth struck him.
"No… wait," he hissed, breath quickening.
"There was a gap. One moment when I was not watching her."
His memory flew back to the moment he rose, took Rosieta's hand, and walked out to the balcony. He had left Eloise and Elodie at the table. Alone.
No. Not alone.
"There was someone else there," Alaric growled.
"A stranger. He sat right beside Eloise while I was gone."
"Theodore Caelthrone," Alaric spat with hatred.
The certainty burned in his chest. He surged to his feet, the chair scraping back and crashing to the floor. His hand flew to his waist, searching for the sword he always carried.
"That Southern bastard! I'll take his head right now!"
He strode for the door, murderous intent pouring from him, the air around him seeming to freeze.
But Sir Baldr moved faster. The old knight blocked his path, arms spread.
"Move, Sir Baldr!" Alaric roared.
"Control yourself, Young Lord!" Baldr's baritone echoed through the narrow room.
"You cannot act on speculation alone!"
"Speculation?! He is the only stranger who was close to Eloise! Who else could it be?!"
"Perhaps—but we have no physical proof!" Baldr pressed.
"The alliance was announced before hundreds of witnesses barely an hour ago. If you storm out now and kill Lord Lucien's son without evidence, you will not only shatter the marriage—you will invite war!"
The word war froze Alaric in place. His chest heaved as he struggled to contain the raging storm within him. Visions of his weary father, starving people, and piles of fallen soldiers flooded his mind.
"We need their food supplies, my lord," Baldr added gently.
"We cannot act rashly. The enemy plays in shadows—so must we."
Alaric ground his teeth until his jaw ached. He knew Baldr was right. The logic of a ruler had to rise above the fury of a brother.
Roughly, Alaric picked up the chair and sat back down. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing down the urge to kill.
"Tomorrow," Alaric said coldly, his eyes now frozen and merciless.
"Starting tomorrow morning, we investigate everything. Eloise's food, her drink—even the air she breathed while speaking to that bastard. Not a single grain of dust will be overlooked."
"A wise decision," Baldr said.
"Does Father know?"
"Not yet, my lord. I came straight to you. Lord Isolde is still entertaining Lord Lucien."
Alaric nodded slowly.
"Good. Tell him only after the guests have retired. No servants are to know—not even our most trusted. We will not act openly. We will uncover this in the shadows."
"I understand. I will carry out your orders at once."
Baldr bowed deeply, then turned toward the door.
As Baldr's hand touched the handle, Alaric spoke again—his voice low, far more terrifying than his earlier shout.
"Sir Baldr."
"Yes, my lord?"
"If it is proven that Theodore did this…"
Alaric lifted his face. His ruby eyes glowed in the darkness.
"I care nothing for war or alliances. I will skin him alive."
Baldr did not answer. He only bowed his head and left the room.
Left alone, Alaric rose and walked to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard. In the distance, the lights of the west wing guest chambers glowed—the rooms where House Caelthrone stayed.
Alaric pressed his hand against the cold glass.
"Enjoy your peaceful sleep tonight, Theodore Caelthrone," he whispered to the night wind.
"You have disturbed someone you should never have touched."