Chapter 3: The Serpent’s Tincture

Diana's POV

I stood in the center of Bianca’s opulent bedroom, the ivory lace gown draped over my arms like a heavy, silken shroud. The fabric was cold—colder than it had any right to be—and the thousands of hand-stitched seed pearls felt like tiny, frozen tears against my skin.

Across the room, Bianca was a whirlwind of frantic, jagged motion, her shadow dancing like a specter against the cold stone. She had discarded her silk finery, pulling on a sturdy traveling tunic and heavy wool trousers I recognized as my own—stolen from the drying racks weeks ago. She didn't look like a bride. She looked like a thief preparing to vanish into the mist.

"I can't do this, Bianca," I whispered, the words catching in a throat that felt like it was closing up. "This isn't just a lie. This is high treason. If Alpha Thorne realizes I’m not you, he won't just kill me. He’ll use my bones to bridge the gap between our packs."

Bianca stopped, a leather satchel of stolen jewelry slung over her shoulder. She turned, her eyes flashing with a predatory light that made my stomach heave. "He lives in a tomb, Diana. He hasn't looked a woman in the eye since the fire. He wants a Vane to occupy the space beside him so he can feel powerful again. You are a Vane. You have the scent, you have the height, and god knows you have the habit of being silent and obedient. You’re perfect for the role."

"And the poison?" I asked, my voice trembling. "The foxglove you stole from my cabinet? You said you were going to use it."

"I was," she said, a cruel smirk touching her lips as she checked the servant’s passage behind the heavy velvet tapestry. "But why should I do the dirty work when I can let the 'Monster of Thorne Manor' rot in his own misery? If I'm gone, my father can't use me as a pawn. And if you’re there, Thorne stays satisfied long enough for me to reach the coast."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "But if you speak up—if you tell the guards I’ve fled—I will ensure my father knows it was your idea. I will tell him you convinced me to run away. I’ll tell him you’ve been skimming the silver-root and nightshade for months. Who do you think the pack will execute first? The Alpha’s daughter, or the bastard niece who plays with poisons?"

The threat was a physical blow. I looked at the gown again. It was a masterpiece of deception.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to vibrate through the floorboards. It wasn't the clumsy tread of our pack warriors. It was the synchronized, lethal march of the Amberclaw Shadow Guards.

"They’re in the foyer," Bianca whispered, her face going pale. "Put it on. Now!"

With shaking hands, I began to unbutton my wool dress. My skin felt pebbled with gooseflesh as the night air hit me. I stepped into the layers of silk and lace, the weight of the gown nearly pulling me to my knees. Bianca worked with frantic speed behind me, zipping the spine of the dress and shoving my feet into the white satin heels.

Then came the veil.

"Put it on. Now!" Bianca commanded. She shoved the heavy, three-tiered lace veil over my head. The world disappeared into a blur of cream mesh.

It was a heavy, three-tiered monstrosity of antique lace, weighted at the edges with silver thread. The room became a blur of cream and shadow, my vision obscured by the intricate floral patterns of the mesh. I felt like I was being buried alive.

"Stay here. Don't speak until you're in the carriage. Give me ten minutes to reach the tree line." she said.

The tapestry rustled, and she was gone.

I stood paralyzed, a ghost in a stolen dress. But as the seconds ticked by, panic overrode my fear of Bianca. If I let her escape with that poison, she might still kill him later, or the pack would be razed when the lie was uncovered. I couldn't just stand there.

"Bianca!" my uncle’s voice boomed. He sounded drunk—on scotch, on fear, or perhaps both. "The enforcers are losing patience. They say the moon is crossing the meridian. If you aren't at the altar by midnight, they’re authorized to take the debt in blood."

I hiked up the heavy skirts of the gown and bolted. I didn't go for the door; I followed her through the servant’s passage, out into the biting chill of the night.