LOGINTrained since childhood to be nothing but a weapon, Esme has lived under her father’s harsh hand. Poison runs in her veins, bruises mark her skin, and every lesson ends with a reminder; kill the king, or her mother dies. Sent into the werewolf palace as a kitchen maid, she waits for her moment, vial and blade hidden beneath her apron. But nothing in her father’s drills prepared her for King Ardon. The first time their eyes lock, something raw and dangerous stirs inside her, a pull she doesn’t understand and cannot control. Each day she spends in his halls, each command spoken in that steady voice, makes her mission harder to carry out. The court whispers. Enemies circle and Lady Selene sharpens her claws, determined to claim the crown by Ardon’s side. And Esme, trapped between loyalty to the man who raised her and the strange fire rising within her, stands on the edge of a truth she’s not ready to face. She was sent to kill the king, but she may be fated to love him.
View MoreEsme P.O.V.Selene stops me just short of the dais, close enough that her perfume reaches me before her words do, light and floral and expensive in a way the kitchens never smell. She holds a ribbon between two fingers, pale silk looped once, the ends hanging loose, her posture relaxed as if this is casual and not exactly what she planned.“For neatness,” she says, her voice smooth, warm, pitched to carry without sounding like it’s meant to.The space around us tightens. I feel it before I hear it, the subtle shift of attention, the way conversations slow and then thin out, leaving a pocket of silence where every sound suddenly matters. Marek’s rule sits heavy in my mind, clear as it has always been, no gifts, no adornments, no exceptions, not even from the court. Especially not from the court.My hands stay at my sides. I don’t reach for the ribbon but I don’t step back either. My fingers curl once and then still, nails pressing lightly into my palm, grounding me in the feel of my ow
Selene P.O.V.I am announced by full title.“Lady Selene of House Rhiannon, Council Liaison.”The herald’s voice carries across the council chamber before the doors finish opening. Nobles straighten, pages step aside, chairs stop shifting and I walk through the space carved for me by lineage and record. High-born blood opens the door and my results keep it open.The table is long, polished, and crowded. Varick sits to the right of where the King will sit, Maelis to the left and Thalos near the far end, posture loose, fingers tapping his slate like a bored student. They pretend the agenda formed without me.They know better.I take my seat without waiting for an invitation and the cushion holds a faint scent of lavender, placed there this morning. Someone tried to please me. That is normal, but it’s rarely enough.Varick clears his throat. “Lady Selene, you grace us early.”“I grace you effectively,” I correct. The corner of his mouth twitches and he hides it with a hand.Ardon enters
Esme The court changes shape around me. It isn’t sudden, it’s slow, like heat rising from ovens, silent until you notice the sweat on your skin. Faces I don’t know begin turning when I enter a room, a servant that shouldn’t draw attention. A kitchen gir thatl shouldn’t have a name carried ahead of her like a rumor.But they know it now. Esme. No one says it aloud. They don’t have to because it hangs in the air between glances and the turn of shoulders.I carry the morning tray into the council corridor. The dishes rattle against the silver plates, the scent of roasted meat mixes with strong tea and the hall smells of wax, stone, and perfume. Two maids pass and slow just enough to look at me, their eyes flick over my uniform, over the tray, over the space behind me, as if they expect someone to follow.Marla appears at my elbow. She has flour under her nails and a curl stuck to her cheek. She bumps my hip lightly.“Careful,” she mutters. “You’re making the peacocks restless.”“Peacock
Ardon At midday, I send Esme to the upper gallery with nothing in her hands and no visible duties. The order is simple. “Walk the long arc twice, stop if anyone demands it, I’ll be behind you.”I follow at a distance that allows me to see who approaches her when they think I’m not near. Varick’s attendant tries to block her with a question about linens, she says, “Speak to Marek,” and keeps moving. Thalos’s clerk stands in her path and asks if she will carry a message to the scullery. “I’m not a runner today,” she says and she doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t soften the refusal, she speaks plain.Darian waits near the stairs and checks his watch. “Two circuits,” he says when she completes the second. “Order fulfilled.” She nods and returns to me without asking for praise so I give her work instead.“Bring me the patrol change logs from the west wall,” I say. “And on the way back, stop at the healer’s and confirm his stock of poppy tincture. Make him say the number out loud, write it
ArdonSmall orders reveal more than grand ones, so I start there.“Deliver this ledger to Maelis,” I tell Esme at first bell the next day, handing her a slim book with the new patrol rosters. “Use the eastern stairs. Do not speak to anyone on the landing.”She answers with one word. “Yes.” I watc
ArdonThe antechamber door closes with a clean sound, no echo and no audience. The morning light shines through the windows, and I know what must be done must be done in private. Darian and Nixton take their positions outside without comment, making sure no one gets good ideas on bad paths. The gu
ArdonThe report sits on my desk like a folded thing that won’t lie. The wax is stamped with the guard captain’s signet and the words inside are clumsy, defensive even. They name times wrong and pin the wrong steps to the wrong people. I read it twice, then once more for habit, looking for the trem
SeleneMidnight plans are cleaner than daytime ones. Daylight invites witnesses who ask questions, darkness answers only to the person who moves with a purpose.I sit at my desk with the small vial resting near my ink pot and the glass holds a thin liquid that coats the walls slowly when turned. It
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