Wedding Gift

Tristan's POV

The ceremony resumed as though nothing had happened, though nothing about it felt the same anymore. Servants moved quickly to reset the altar, guests straightened in their seats, and the priest cleared his throat before beginning again, his voice carrying over a crowd still buzzing with whispers no one could fully silence.

I stood beside Ivy, my hand damp against hers, my mind still circling the same impossible question. Genevieve stood a few feet away beside my father, calm, composed, her eyes occasionally drifting toward me with a look I could not read.

"We continue as planned," Ivy whispered through her smile, barely moving her lips. "She only knows you want him dead, not how. There's no way she could have touched the wine, my father watched the servants prepare everything himself."

I nodded slowly, some of the color returning to my face. "You're right," I whispered back. "She's bluffing. She wants to shake us, that's all."

The priest called both couples forward for the exchanging of vows, the crowd rising to their feet in unison. I took my place across from Ivy, forcing my expression into something soft, something loving. A few feet away, my father took Genevieve's hands into his own, his eyes never once leaving her face.

Before the vows continued, my father turned to address the crowd, his voice carrying easily across the hall. "Before we go further, I want everyone here to know the woman standing beside me," he said. "This is Genevieve, and she will be my Luna. You are all invited for the coronation, she will be ruling this pack at my side from this day forward."

The crowd applauded warmly. Ivy's smile did not falter outwardly, but her grip on my arm tightened until her nails pressed sharp crescents into my sleeve. I felt her jaw lock beside me, her eyes burning as she watched her sister receive the title that should have belonged to her, the title she had spent years believing was hers by right the moment Genevieve was gone.

The vows passed in a blur for me. I heard myself speaking words I had rehearsed for weeks, my voice steady enough that no one seemed to notice the storm underneath it.

Then came the exchange of drinks. Servants moved forward carrying trays with four glasses, each filled with dark wine. My eyes found the glass immediately, the one I had prepared myself that morning, positioned exactly where it needed to be for my father.

A wine was served to me. I lifted it without hesitation, without a flicker of doubt crossing my face, and drank.

The wine tasted the way wine should taste, and something in my chest loosened with relief. Ivy was right. Genevieve knew nothing of the method, only the intention, and that alone could not stop what was already set in motion. I glanced toward my father, who stood across the room with his own glass raised toward Genevieve, both of them drinking together, smiling for the crowd.

My father set his glass down, unaffected, his strength as steady as ever.

The reception moved forward. Music filled the hall, couples took to the floor, and I finally allowed myself to breathe, leading Ivy into the first dance with something close to real confidence returning to my shoulders.

"Everything is going to work exactly as we planned," I murmured against her ear as we moved across the floor.

Ivy smiled up at me, her eyes flicking briefly toward Genevieve dancing nearby with my father. "Once he's gone, none of this will matter," she said.

I spun her once more, and it was somewhere in that motion that the room began to tilt beneath me.

At first I thought it was simply the wine catching up to me, or the exhaustion of the day finally settling in. But the feeling spread too fast, a cold heaviness crawling up through my legs, my vision blurring at the edges, my heartbeat stumbling out of rhythm inside my chest. I knew this feeling. I had studied it myself, tested it, measured exactly how long it would take to bring a grown Alpha to his knees.

"No," I whispered. "This isn't possible."

My knees buckled. Blood rose in my throat and I spat it onto the polished floor in front of hundreds of watching guests, the music stuttering to a stop as gasps rippled through the crowd. I collapsed, my body convulsing slightly as the poison tore through my system exactly the way I had designed it to.

Genevieve was at my side almost instantly, dropping to her knees beside me, her voice rising in panic. "Someone call the physician, please!" she screamed, her hands hovering over me as though she didn't know where to touch first. "Somebody help him!"

Across the hall, my father moved quickly, his expression sharp with alarm as he knelt beside me, ordering guards forward with a voice that shook the room. "Find out what happened," he commanded. "I want this investigated immediately, no one leaves these grounds until we know what's in that wine."

Servants scattered. Guests pressed closer, whispering in horror. Ivy stood frozen a few steps away, her face pale, unable to move, unable to speak.

My vision swam in and out of focus, my body growing weaker by the second. I knew this poison better than anyone in that room, I had created it myself, tested it myself, measured its effects down to the hour. Somewhere beneath the panic I understood exactly what was happening to me. I needed the antidote within the hour, or I would not survive the night.

Through the chaos, Genevieve leaned down close to my ear, her voice soft enough that only I could hear it beneath the screaming and the panic around us.

"How do you like my wedding gift?”