Chapter 5: The Poison's Grasp

Kaelan Drakemont was no stranger to danger. He had faced countless threats in his life—many from enemies, some from his own blood. But none of them felt quite like this. The poison coursing through his veins was slow, insidious, and the pain it brought was unlike anything he had ever known. It spread through him like wildfire, suffocating his breath, clouding his mind. His chest tightened, each breath harder to take than the last, as the world around him seemed to close in.

Kaelan's hands shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the mirror for support, his reflection distorted in the glass. The sensation was suffocating, and it wasn't just physical—his thoughts were spiraling in a dozen different directions. Who did this? Why?

The answer came to him, sharp and immediate: Elena. His stepmother, the woman who had kept a tight grip on everything in their household. The woman who had used her influence over his father to manipulate the territory, who had slowly poisoned every aspect of his life. Elena had poisoned him—that much was clear.

But confronting her, accusing her directly, would be a death sentence. The house was not as it seemed, and every movement he made, every word he spoke, was being watched. He was a prisoner in his own home, every action scrutinized, every decision monitored. The walls felt like they were closing in.

The nausea hit him again, sharp and sudden, like a tidal wave crashing against his insides. His heart raced, beating erratically, too fast, too hard, as if it might burst from his chest. He staggered back from the mirror, clutching his chest as if holding himself together. His vision swam in and out of focus, and for a moment, he feared he might collapse, his legs too weak to carry him. He gasped for air, each breath a struggle. Stay focused. You have to survive this.

Then, like a door in his mind creaking open, Kaelan recalled something from another life. A memory that wasn't entirely his own, yet it felt as real as any of his own. Keiran's memory.

Keiran had watched his mother suffer from heart problems in the past, and he remembered the look of fear in his father's eyes when they had made a fatal mistake. They had given her too much of foxglove, a plant used to treat heart conditions. But the wrong dose had turned it into a deadly poison. Kaelan's head spun as the details clicked into place. The dizziness, the nausea, the erratic heartbeat—it was the same poison.

Foxglove.

The poison now coursing through Kaelan's veins.

He had learned enough in Keiran's life to recognize the danger. He was already feeling the symptoms—the dizziness, the nausea, the erratic heartbeat. Left untreated, this poison would kill him, just as it had killed Keiran's mother.

But Kaelan's mind wasn't clouded for long. The fog lifted as the urgency of the situation sharpened his thoughts. He knew the remedies, the herbs that could save him—milk thistle, ginseng, and others. Keiran had once studied them to counteract poisonings, and now, Kaelan could only pray he remembered enough. The problem wasn't just finding the herbs. It was the timing.

Every part of his life was under surveillance now.

His mind raced, the weight of Elena's manipulation settling heavily over him. He couldn't trust anyone in the household—not now. Every step had to be calculated. His survival depended on it. One wrong move, one misstep, and he would be lost. The room felt colder, the walls pressing in as the nausea began to intensify once more. But Kaelan knew he had no time to waste.

The only person left he could trust was Milo.

Milo had been a loyal butler in Kaelan's household since before he was born. Quiet and methodical in his work, the older man's loyalty was unmatched. Through all the tumult, through his mother's illness, his father's disappearance, and the endless betrayals from his stepmother, Milo had remained a steady presence. He had seen Kaelan through the worst of times—always in the background, always working quietly to ensure Kaelan was taken care of when no one else would.

Milo was the only one Kaelan could trust now.

"Milo," Kaelan rasped, his voice barely a whisper as he fought against the dizziness threatening to pull him under. "I need you to do something for me. I need you to bring me milk thistle and ginseng. But not tomorrow. Not in the day when everyone's watching. Elena's spies are everywhere, and I don't trust anyone else in this house. You need to bring them to me tonight—when no one is around."

The words left his lips with a desperation he couldn't hide, and yet, Kaelan felt a flicker of hope. Milo would understand. The butler always had.

Without a word, Milo nodded, his sharp eyes gleaming with understanding. The older man was quiet, but Kaelan knew he had already anticipated the request. Milo's loyalty wasn't just a matter of duty—it was a matter of honor. And Kaelan had never doubted that Milo would come through.

"Don't worry, My Lord," Milo said, his voice as calm and steady as always. "I will see to it."

Kaelan leaned back against the desk, his hands trembling as he steadied himself. Thank you, Milo.

The night fell slowly, and with it, Kaelan's condition worsened. The poison twisted its grip tighter, and each moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. His heart raced erratically, and his vision blurred as he stumbled to the bed, trying to hold onto his will. His body was breaking down. But his mind—his mind was sharp. He couldn't afford to be weak now.

This was his gamble. His only chance.

He had known drinking the tea was risky. Elena's hand in everything was undeniable. But Kaelan was a strategist. He understood the game. Elena didn't just want him dead—she wanted him weak, manipulated, controlled. She wanted him to rely on her.

By taking the poison, Kaelan had made himself a pawn in her game—but he would not stay one. He would survive.

As the hours passed, the house grew quiet, the flickering light of the candle beside his bed his only company.

The door opened with a quiet creak.

"Milo," Kaelan whispered, his heart skipping a beat at the familiar sound of the butler's footsteps.

Milo entered silently, a small vial in his hands. "Here, My Lord," he said softly, offering the vial filled with the prepared herbs. "As you requested."

Kaelan's grip was steady as he took the vial, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Trust. That was the one thing he still had. Milo was the only one he could depend on.

Kaelan uncorked the vial, and the pungent smell of bitter herbs filled the air. With determination, he drank it, the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat. The moment the mixture hit his stomach, the nausea surged like a tidal wave. His heart slammed against his chest, his vision spun. It was too much. His body trembled violently as the poison fought back.

He collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, the weight of fatigue crashing down on him. His body shook, a cruel reminder of the battle raging inside him. He couldn't give up. He couldn't let it win.

Minutes passed in an agonizing crawl. Kaelan's body trembled under the strain, and the pressure on his chest felt like a vice. But then—slowly—he felt it.

The nausea began to recede. His heartbeat slowed, its rhythm becoming more regular. The dizziness lifted, just a little. Kaelan drew in a slow, steady breath.

It was working.

Slowly, but surely, the poison was being pushed back.

As Kaelan lay back, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, he allowed himself a moment of relief. The battle was far from over, but for now, he had won.

He had survived.

But Elena would not be so easy to defeat.