Chapter II : A Potion and a Proposal

Rebecca’s POV 

The banquet hall glittered like a giant jeweled box, light spilling from hundreds of chandeliers into rivers of gold across the marble floors. Music floated through the air, delicate strings weaving around the buzz of a hundred conversations. 

And every one of those conversations stopped the moment I stepped through the doors. 

It was like the entire palace sucked in a single, collective breath. 

I froze on the threshold, heat crawling up my neck. My skirts, which Maddie had spent the last two hours fussing over, suddenly felt too tight. The gown was pale lavender silk, delicate and flowing—and far too fine for someone like me. The silver embroidery along the hem shimmered like frost. 

Maddie said she’d come. Swore up and down she’d be right beside me. 

Then, ten minutes before we left, she faked a headache and claimed she didn’t want to be third-wheeling my “Rhys reunion.” 

Coward. Typical Maddie. 

“You’ll be fine,” She’d told me, pinning the last stubborn curl into place. “Hold your chin high. Remember: these people breathe the same air as you," 

I wasn’t convinced. Not when every eye in the banquet hall was staring at me as though a ghost had just walked in. 

The whispers started immediately, slithering through the crowd like snakes: 

Is that… Rebecca Rosewyn? The fire… Her mother… Witch… 

I clenched my jaw and tried to keep my breathing even. A server hurried forward, offering me a goblet of sparkling gold wine. My hand shook slightly as I took it. 

Across the hall, palace musicians played a bright, swirling piece. Knights in polished armor mingled with noblemen in embroidered coats. The Queen’s crimson banners draped every column. Servants glided among the guests, refilling glasses and offering trays of sugared almonds. 

A hush fell as the Queen entered. 

Omara Zilly. Regal in crimson silk and diamonds, her black hair streaked with silver. She was only two years older than my mother had been—and yet seemed carved from ice. 

She lifted her arms, and the music softened. 

“My loyal subjects,” Queen Omara called, her voice echoing across the hall. “Tonight, we honor the bravest knights of the Crown—those who keep our borders safe, who uphold peace, who carry my will into every corner of this kingdom.” 

Polite applause rippled through the crowd. 

“Eat, drink, and dance.” Queen Omara continued. “Let your laughter echo from these walls. You have earned it," 

A roar of cheers followed, and the musicians launched into a triumphant flourish. 

That was when I saw him. 

Gideon Malik. 

He stood behind the Queen, towering in black and silver ceremonial armor, the polished plates lighter and designed for court appearances rather than war. His hair, black as a raven’s wing, gleamed under the chandeliers. He didn’t smile. He barely moved. His sharp, angular face looked carved from stone. 

The infamous Iron Wolf. 

Beside him stood Lady Kalali: golden-haired, statuesque, draped in white silk embroidered with pearls. She leaned close to Gideon, whispering something in his ear. Her laugh rang out, brittle and tinkling like glass shattering. 

Everyone knew Lady Kalali chased Gideon Malik. She’d been trying for years. Whispers said she’d tried everything: gifts, poems, royal favors, even crying in front of the Queen. Nothing worked. Gideon remained as cold and untouched as a mountain peak. 

I wanted nothing to do with any of them. They were the Queen’s favorites, loyal to the Crown above all else. People who’d watched my mother burn and done nothing. 

I should’ve looked away. But my eyes collided with Gideon’s across the room. 

For a moment, the noise around us faded. The clatter of plates. The trill of the violins. The rustle of silk gowns. All of it disappeared. 

Gideon stared back at me, dark eyes unreadable. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even curiosity. Like he was simply observing a problem he intended to solve. 

My throat went dry. 

Then— 

“Becca!” 

Rhys bounded into view, all sunshine and boyish grin. He wore a formal uniform now, deep crimson with gold braid at the shoulders. He looked—impossibly handsome. 

Rhys slid an arm around my waist. 

“Gods, you look beautiful.” 

I swallowed. “I feel like an over-decorated cake," 

Rhys barked a laugh. “Delicious, then.” 

Several noblewomen nearby gasped at his familiarity. I shrank further into my skirts, but Rhys just beamed and squeezed me closer. 

“You really came,” Rhys said softly. “I was terrified you’d vanish the second you saw the gates," 

“Still might," 

“Don’t you dare," 

I glanced nervously across the room. Lady Kalali was still whispering to Gideon, casting me a sharp look over her shoulder. Rhys followed my gaze. 

“Ignore them. This is our night," 

Before I could protest, trumpets blared. 

The Queen’s herald stepped forward. 

“The dance shall begin! Let the knights take their partners!” 

Rhys grinned. “That’s my cue," He offered his hand. “Dance with me?” 

I hesitated, cheeks burning. “Rhys…” 

“One dance,” Rhys coaxed. “You promised," 

I sighed—and placed my hand in his. 

Rhys led me into the swirl of dancers. The violins soared higher, a bright, spinning tune. Couples turned and dipped, gowns billowing like blossoms. 

Rhys pulled me close. “Don’t look so terrified," 

“I’ve never danced in a palace before," 

Rhys winked. “Pretend we’re back at the harvest festival. Remember? You stepped on my foot three times," 

“Don’t remind me," 

Rhys twirled me under his arm. A laugh slipped out despite myself. 

People were definitely staring. Rebecca Rosewyn, the potion-maker’s daughter—dancing in the Queen’s palace. 

Rhys’s voice dropped to a murmur. “You belong here more than any of them," 

I shook my head. “Rhys, don’t—” 

“You do,” Rhys insisted. “And one day, they’ll see it," 

My chest ached. 

As the dance ended, a new piece began immediately—fast-paced, couples exchanging partners every few measures. I tried to slip away. But the crowd carried me along. 

One partner after another—a nobleman with sweaty palms, a knight who stepped on my toes, a flushed courtier who whispered crude compliments. 

Then— 

I found myself staring up into eyes as dark as obsidian. 

Gideon Malik. 

His gloved hand closed firmly around mine. My breath caught. 

Gideon didn’t bow. He didn’t speak. He simply began to dance. 

He moved with frightening precision, every step exact, his grip strong enough to keep me from stumbling. His cloak brushed my skirts, the cold decorative steel glinting at his shoulders. 

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. 

“I—” I tried. “I didn’t expect to—” 

“Focus on your steps,” Gideon said flatly. 

I blinked up at him. 

“What—” 

“Left. Now turn," 

I stumbled. His arm tightened, steadying me. His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of annoyance. 

“You’re trembling,” Gideon observed. 

“I’m not used to dancing with statues," 

One of his eyebrows twitched. Barely. 

Gideon turned me expertly, his hand firm at my waist. Our gazes collided, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Heat. Or anger. I couldn’t tell. 

The music shifted. Gideon released me as the partners changed again. 

Rhys reappeared, grinning. “Survived the Wolf, did you?” 

I tried to answer, but my tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. 

Rhys drew me aside as servers bustled in with silver trays of goblets, refilling wine and water. 

My fingers brushed the small red vial hidden in my pocket. It felt like it was burning a hole through the silk. 

Rhys tilted his head. “What’s that look?” 

I hesitated. This was my moment. 

I slipped the vial from my pocket, small enough to hide in my palm. 

Rhys raised a brow. 

“Becca—?” 

The potion didn’t create love—it only revealed it. If there was nothing there, it would fake everything. Gods, what if it worked? What if it didn’t? 

“I… I need to know,” I whispered. 

Rhys frowned. “Know what?” 

My hands trembled as I reached toward his goblet, heart hammering in my chest. 

“Becca—what are you—?” 

But in the swirl of dancers, a servant stumbled between us, bumping Rhys sideways. His goblet clinked against another on the table. 

I lunged forward. 

“No, wait—!” 

Too late. 

The vial’s contents poured— 

Into the wrong cup. 

Straight into Gideon Malik’s goblet. 

My breath seized. I grabbed for it—but Gideon’s hand closed around the stem first. 

“Wait—” I choked. 

He lifted the goblet to his lips. 

Gods, please don’t— 

He drank. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes locked on mine over the rim. 

Rhys’s voice rang out beside me. 

“Becca, what’s wrong—” 

But a soldier appeared, panting. “Sir Ashford, you’re needed outside. Urgent," 

Rhys hesitated. “Now?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Rhys squeezed my arm. “I’ll be right back," 

“No—Rhys, don’t—” 

But he was already gone. Leaving me alone in a sea of eyes. 

Lady Kalali, who’d been watching everything like a hawk, swept closer. Her lips curled in triumph. “What’s this?” She reached for Gideon’s goblet, sniffed it delicately—and recoiled. “That scent. Oh… gods. That’s love potion," 

The words cracked across the hall like thunder. Gasps rose all around me. Faces turned. Eyes widened. Murmurs swelled into a storm. 

Lady Kalali’s voice rose, sharp and slicing: “She tried to ensorcel Commander Malik! That’s treason! That’s an assault on the Crown!” 

My blood turned to ice. 

Guards seized my arms. 

“No—no—it was an accident—” I cried. “It wasn’t meant for him—” 

Lady Kalali’s eyes glittered. “How convenient," 

“Please—” 

“Take her to the Queen!” Lady Kalali shrieked.