Chapter 2: A Knife at My Throat

The steel pressing against my throat was cold, sharp enough to draw blood if I breathed deeply.

I kept my hands at my sides, refusing to show fear. Silence stretched taut, punctuated by pine logs crackling in the hearth.

Grim stared down at me, his ice-blue eyes unyielding. Dark veins pulsed faintly along his jawline—the mark of the Black Vein Curse.

"I asked a question, Duchess," Grim murmured. "How does a noblewoman recognize Nightshade Root? And why claim it came from Prince Jamie?"

My heart beat frantic, but I forced my chin up. In novels, the second a lead displays fear, she surrenders leverage.

"If I were Prince Jamie's spy, Your Grace," I said, "I would have stood quietly and let you drink that wine. You would be dead in three months, and I would be collecting my reward."

Grim did not flinch. "Unless this is a trap designed to win my trust before you strike when my guard is down."

"I do not need tricks to earn your trust," I countered, nudging his blade away. "I need you alive. If you fall, Prince Jamie will execute my family and burn the Northern Duchy."

Grim's dark brows pulled together. "You speak with confidence for someone forced into this marriage."

"I speak with knowledge," I corrected. "Prince Jamie is drowning in debts. He pledged supply routes weeks ago. He sent me as a pawn because he assumes you are too blind to notice his trap."

Grim's eyes narrowed. Supply routes were top-secret imperial matters.

"And what makes you think I won't cut your throat right now?" Grim whispered, stepping forward until his frame eclipsed the firelight.

"Because I am the only person who knows what is actually killing you," I said, looking at the dark veins on his neck. "And it is not just Nightshade Root."

Grim froze, his knuckles turning white around his hilt. Wild aura made the windowpanes rattle.

"Careful, Elodie," he warned. "You are treading on thin ice."

"It is called the Black Vein Curse," I continued. "The court has been feeding it to you through tea rations for three years. It settles inside your core, freezing your blood during snowstorms. Your physicians lied when calling it a rare blood disease."

Grim grabbed my wrist with his free hand. His iron grip was searing hot, holding me firmly in place.

"Who gave you this information?" Grim demanded, leaning down until his dark hair brushed my temple. "Which of my men betrayed me?"

"Nobody betrayed you," I lied. "I observed it. I pieced together ledgers, reports, and Prince Jamie's movements. I chose to align with the man who can wield a sword, rather than the coward hiding behind poison."

For several seconds, neither of us dared to breathe. Electric tension burned between us. He searched my face for any sign of deceit.

Slowly, Grim lowered his sword and slid the blade back into its sheath.

"You are either the sharpest mind in this empire," Grim murmured, his thumb brushing my pulse point, "or you have a suicide wish."

"I am a woman who intends to survive," I replied, smoothing down my dress. "And to ensure our mutual survival, we require a contract."

Grim leaned back against the mantle, crossing his broad arms. "A contract? The capital bride is dictating terms on our wedding night?"

"First, grant me access to archives and apothecary," I stated. "Second, do not execute staff without my review. Third, when diplomats demand taxes, allow me to handle negotiations."

Grim studied me with deep intrigue. "And what does the Grand Duke receive in exchange for surrendering authority?"

"You get the antidote to your curse," I answered. "You get an ally who knows every dark secret Prince Jamie is hiding. And you keep your head attached to your shoulders."

Before Grim could reply, a low brass horn echoed from the outer battlements.

*Booooooom.*

The heavy sound shook the stone floor beneath our feet, rattling the iron chandelier.

Grim's expression hardened into that of a war commander. "The alarm horn at the eastern weapons vault."

The heavy oak doors burst open with a loud bang. Commander Waylon Sharpe stood on the threshold, covered in soot and snow, his armor stained with ash.

"Your Grace!" Waylon reported. "Fire broke out in the armory! Lord Vane and the council surround the courtyard, claiming your escort started the blaze!"

Grim turned his icy gaze back to me. "It seems your former allies are not waiting for the poison to do its work. What is your command, my clever Duchess?"

I gathered the heavy silver train of my wedding dress and walked past him toward the door.

"Simple," I said without breaking my stride. "We go down there and show Lord Vane what happens when he plays with fire in my fortress."