Wedding gift

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.

Tristan stood beside Ivy, his hand damp against hers, his mind still circling the same impossible question. Genevieve stood a few feet away beside Alpha Thorne, calm, composed, her eyes occasionally drifting toward Tristan with a look he 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."

Tristan nodded slowly, some of the color returning to his face. "You're right," he 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. Tristan took his place across from Ivy, forcing his expression into something soft, something loving. A few feet away, Alpha Thorne took Genevieve's hands into his own, his eyes never once leaving her face.

Before the vows continued, Alpha Thorne 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 Tristan's arm tightened until her nails pressed sharp crescents into his sleeve. Ivy's jaw locked, 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 Tristan. He heard himself speaking words he had rehearsed for weeks, his 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. Tristan's eyes found the glass immediately, the one he had prepared himself that morning, positioned exactly where it needed to be for his father.

A wine was served to him, he lifted it without hesitation, without a flicker of doubt crossing his face, and drank.

The wine tasted the way wine should taste, and Tristan felt something in his chest loosen 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. He glanced toward his father, who stood across the room with his own glass raised toward Genevieve, both of them drinking together, smiling for the crowd.

Alpha Thorne 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 Tristan finally allowed himself to breathe, leading Ivy into the first dance with something close to real confidence returning to his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

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

His knees buckled. Blood rose in his throat and he 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. Tristan collapsed, his body convulsing slightly as the poison tore through his system exactly the way he had designed it to.

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

Across the hall, Alpha Thorne moved quickly, his expression sharp with alarm as he knelt beside his son, 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.

Tristan's vision swam in and out of focus, his body growing weaker by the second. He knew this poison better than anyone in the room, he had created it himself, tested it himself, measured its effects down to the hour. Somewhere beneath the panic he understood exactly what was happening to him. He needed the antidote within the hour, or he would not survive the night.

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

"How do you like my wedding gift?"