Belladonna Trap

POV BRIAR

Never trust a viper dressed in silk pouring you a drink. That was the lesson confirmed by the frantic trembling in Lady Vane’s gloved fingers. The crystal chattered wildly between her grasp, cold sweat beading on her forehead and streaking the pale powder she used to mask the terror twisting her features.

"Your Majesty, this is slander!" she cried, her gaze darting toward Malakar without daring to yank free from my grip, my nails still pricking live skin at her wrist. "This stranger seeks to turn you against your own bloodborn subjects!"

Malakar did not need to speak. The air around us grew heavy, thick and suffocating, his beast pressing down upon the room until breathing itself felt like work.

The King stepped forward slow and deliberate, as one who has already spoken the sentence. With two fingers he plucked the goblet from her trembling hands before it could shatter on the stones. He did not sniff it. His golden eyes locked on hers narrowed to slits, cold and lethal.

"Drink," Malakar commanded.

It came out rough and quiet, yet carried such brutal authority that her knees buckled completely, striking the floor with a dull thud.

"M-mercy, my Lord..." the noblewoman sobbed, writhing against the stone. "I only sought to protect your line... a southern girl cannot rule Drakor... we do not know what cursed blood she carries..."

"So you admit it is poisoned," I said, releasing her wrist with open disdain, unwilling to soil my hands any further.

Malakar tilted the goblet slowly. The golden liquid spilled out across the obsidian stones between her knees. The moment it touched the cold surface, it began to hiss, releasing thick white smoke that ate into the polished finish as if it were acid.

Silence settled over the Great Hall, deep and absolute.

Malakar’s dark blade cleared its sheath without a single scrape. The sharp edge rested gently against the curve of her throat, pricking one tiny bead of scarlet that trickled down her jeweled neck.

"Treason against the throne during wartime," the King said with terrifying calm. "The penalty is public dismemberment upon the eastern palisades."

"Wait," I said, placing my palm flat against Malakar’s bare forearm. I felt the furious tension in his muscles, burning hot and drawn tight as steel cables beneath my touch. "Do not kill her. Not like this. Not now."

Malakar turned his face toward me, his pupils still blown wide with his wolf’s hunger for justice:

"She tried to cripple you, Briar. No one strikes at my mate and keeps their head."

"And cutting it off today gives the northern clans a martyr to whisper about behind our backs," I answered, meeting his gaze steadily, calling his beast to match the quiet calm of my own wolf. "If she dies now, they will say the southern Queen made their King spill noble blood on a whim. Strip her of every title. Seize her family lands and lock her in the deep dungeon, under your most trusted guard. Let her watch from the bars as we march south and see a 'southern girl' bring Silvercrest to its knees. Humiliation will kill her slower and far more painfully than your sword ever could."

A spark of dark admiration flashed in Malakar’s golden eyes. The wild tension along his jaw softened, replaced by fierce, proud understanding. He lowered the blade an inch.

"Take her away," he ordered the guards at the door, never once breaking eye contact with me. "Deep stone cells. No visitors. And seize every holding of House Vane before they can spread their poison elsewhere."

Two broad guards dragged her out by the arms, her desperate screams fading down the corridor and vanishing into the fortress darkness.

When the heavy doors clicked shut, exhaustion crashed over me all at once. The adrenaline drained away, leaving my legs heavy and weak after the taxing purification ritual from hours before. I swayed backward, reaching for the map table to steady myself.

Malakar’s arm circled my waist before my fingers could touch the wood.

He lifted me effortlessly against his chest, ignoring my faint protest, and carried me from the hall with long, purposeful strides. He did not stop until he kicked open the door to his private chambers and kicked it shut behind us.

He settled me upon the settee beside the great crackling hearth. Kneeling before me, he carefully unlaced my boots, checking my ankles with gentle thoroughness, making certain no lingering trace of the poison or the ritual remained in my body.

"You have a sharp tongue for politics," he murmured, his large, rough hands moving up my calves to massage the tight, weary muscles. "But your body is still settling into your wolf’s strength. You should be resting, not outwitting poisoned cups from bitter court ladies."

"Garrick and my mother taught me to watch every hand that offered something since I turned fifteen," I answered with a bitter little smile, leaning my head back against the velvet cushion. "Only in Silvercrest, the vipers sat right at my own dinner table."

Malakar paused. His hands rested warm and firm upon my hips, then he rose slowly to loom over me. His scent, cedarwood, hearth fire, and clean mountain snow, wrapped around me completely, washing away every trace of the poison that still lingered in the hall.

"That life is over, Briar," he said, voice low and rough, brushing his thumb along the curve of my jaw. "Here, no one touches you ever again without paying a price in blood."

The touch of his skin sent heat rushing through my veins. My golden wolf stirred within my chest, pushing me toward him with a sudden, breathless urgency. Malakar leaned closer until his warm breath brushed my lips.

His fingers tangled gently into my dark hair, tilting my neck aside. His elongated fangs grazed the soft skin just above my racing pulse, marking exactly where the mate bond waited to be sealed. The whole room seemed to fall away, nothing remaining but the thunderous rhythm of our hearts beating as one.

"Tell me to stop," he groaned against my skin, trembling with the enormous effort of holding his beast in check. "If you do not stop me now, Briar... I will claim you right here by this fire, and there will be no god or army on this continent that can tear you from my side."

My hands found their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his thick hair. Every part of me screamed not to let go.

"Do not stop," I whispered, my lips parting toward his.

Malakar opened his mouth, his fangs descending, ready to sink into my skin...

A heavy, violent thud struck the tower window, shattering the silence like a gunshot.

The King pulled back instantly, his dagger drawn before I could even blink, shielding me completely with his body. We both looked toward the glass, fogged over by the driving snow outside.

A grey messenger hawk lay broken against the stone windowsill, an arrow with black fletching piercing through its chest. Tied to its bloodied leg was a small leather capsule. An urgent message from the southern border had just run the gauntlet through the mountain pass — and it had not arrived in peace.