Someone Else's Demise

Conversation comes surprisingly smooth.

Florian is more than engaged the moment Cyrus brings up the topic of books. It's hard to follow along the young prince's rambles, but I do what I can to comprehend his words.

"I still believe the fourth volume is the best one. To be expected, considering what the author was going through at that stage of his life. It's true. Tragedy inspires creativity. It creates masterpieces." Florian explains, fork excitedly prodding at his plate.

I don't think he's noticed the state his food is in—untouched but scattered. He's been talking all night, barely taking a bite. His timidity seems to dissipate when he's in the presence of his brothers.

It's a given. He grew up with them, after all. Florian has seen them at their best and their worst. There's no reason to be awkward.

Even in game, when he grew to warm up to the heroine, his babbling tendencies were exposed. Lines and lines of dialogue about novels and niche interests flooding the screen. I skipped through most of them, read through some.

In real life, it's fascinating to witness.

Prince Cyrus hums in thought, carefully slicing his steak in half. His movements are refined, dignified, unlike his younger brother's. "I find that volume to be rather pretentious."

Ah. A bold thing to say.

The arguing begins there. Florian is more defensive than a normal person would be, aggressively insisting on the appeal of his favorite volume, and Cyrus is smirking, revealing an unexpected mischievous side.

Unable to follow the heated debate, I tune them out.

Alloy's been curled around my feet since the moment I sat down. The feline has been purring affectionately, nestling its soft head against my calves.

Not a word has been exchanged. Only gentle touches, a silent comfort.

Something tells me it's because Alloy senses my anxiety. None of which would've been felt had it not been for my husband.

All night, the unpredictable prince has done nothing but sit and behave—utterly out of character.

You'd expect Valerius to be bored of the conversation, bored enough to walk out of the room without a care for etiquette or courtesy. His brothers would be enraged and he'd keep on walking.

Perhaps he'd even say something outrageous to entertain himself, enrage Florian further or pick at Cyrus' dwindling patience. Valerius has the audacity for it, that's for certain.

But right now, he's doing nothing to disturb the peace. He's done nothing but stare. It's unsettling.

My skin feels exposed under his gaze. Silver spheres strip me bare of my defenses, assessing me like a displayed tool. Tonight, I am a tool, for whatever schemes he has hidden in his sleeves.

There's heat in those eyes. It's clear that Valerius is out to get what he wants.

Still, if he's anticipating my next move, it's best he keeps it subtle. I might not be Prince Cyrus, I might not be the target of his ill schemes, but Valerius' intentions are starting to grow suspicious.

Hopefully, the two brothers are too busy bickering to catch on. The first move needs to be made—soon.

I cough to gather everybody's attention.

"The atmosphere is a bit tense. Perhaps we should indulge in some drinks? Something to lighten the mood." I say, more nervous than I thought I would be.

Prince Florian is another factor I have to consider. He tenses and frowns, "I'd rather not. You three feel free to do what you want."

"Don't be a bore." Valerius inserts. "It's Cyrus' last dinner in the palace before he returns to Rosewood. That's a moment worth toasting to, don't you think?"

His last dinner was meant to be nights ago, but due to Valerius' insolence, his departure was postponed. That night was insane and the wound on my shoulder, barely healed, serves as a reminder of it.

Prince Cyrus tenses. The change is small, barely noticeable, but my eyes have been trained to catch his cues. It's fascinating how well he commits to a role. I don't miss it—the way he disguises a resigned sigh with a dabble of a napkin.

"There's no harm in a few drinks." He says.

Florian's forehead scrunches in disagreement. The white rose is clearly opposed to the decision. But when he tries to stand up, Valerius is already behind him, pushing the prince to sit back down.

"Stay." There's no room for arguments there.

Fear reflects in Florian's eyes for a swift second before he returns to his aloof self.

Poor boy. Wouldn't it be best to let him go?

If Valerius' feud lies with Cyrus alone, Florian exists as nothing but an obstacle.

Either there's more to my husband's plan than I've calculated or he's deliberately trying to make it more difficult for me—both are likely.

Ha! It must be amusing to watch his wife suffer.

Valerius, once I get my hands on a dagger again, I'll make sure to stake your head on it.

Thinking on my feet, I stand. "Allow me to serve you, my princes."

"Oh," Cyrus utters. "There's no need, Penelope. Simply order a maid to do it for us."

"Nonsense," I shake my head. "Like my husband said, it's your last night in Willowhold palace. You went through a lot of trouble to make this place feel like home. It's the least I can do to honor your effort."

I retrieve a jar of the finest liquor, taking it off the hands of a servant. The vial feels heavy on my chest. The metal's cold, but as it stays there waiting, I can't help but feel a burn.

Now might not be the best time to sneak the substance in. I have to earn their comfort, slowly and surely, until there's nothing left of Cyrus' guard.

Otherwise, well, I'd rather not find out the consequences of a royal assassination.

Perhaps that's Valerius' goal, to play me like a fool and get rid of me through attempted murder. I might even end up in Willowhold's dungeons, right next to the small man.

If his goal is to dispose of me, then he doesn't know what he has coming. It'd be embarrassing to fail at a murder, after all. And I'm not an embarrassment.