A Taste of Poison

Akio took another heavy gulp from his fourth cup of wine, only half-listening to the rowdy chatter filling the great hall. The long table was weighed down with roasted pigs, juicy chickens, hefty beef briskets, plump fruits, and an array of cheeses. His men laughed and feasted, but Akio was far too distracted to join in their merriment.

He absent-mindedly grabbed a large chicken leg and tore into it, the flesh ripping beneath his teeth. But his thoughts were consumed with Azrya. He hadn't seen her since the early afternoon, and a restless hunger—not for food—gnawed at his chest.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he remembered her earlier flustered expression. Teasing her had been far too amusing. He couldn't wait to toy with her again. But her absence was beginning to gnaw at his nerves.

"When is she getting here?" he muttered to himself.

Just as he was about to rise and seek her out, the doors to the great hall opened—and she stepped in.

The room fell silent. Akio didn't notice at first, too busy wrestling with the sudden storm of emotion surging through him.

Desire surged like fire through his veins as his eyes devoured her figure. The royal blue dress hugged every curve of her body, whispering secrets that were meant only for his eyes. Her ebony breasts strained against the tight bodice, threatening to spill forth at any moment.

But when he finally looked past her body and into her face, something shifted. His breath caught. She looked... breathtaking.

Those big, innocent doe eyes. Her soft, pink lips. The sprinkle of freckles across her button nose. She looked delicate. Untouched. His.

A pang of something more than lust stabbed at his chest.

He inhaled deeply, trying to regain control. But as his eyes swept the hall and noticed every other man gawking at her, something snapped.

His expression darkened. He slammed back the rest of his wine, his knuckles whitening as his fist curled tight.

Who let her wear that obscene dress?

If he knew who had designed it, he'd have the bastard fed to the dogs.

Only he should see her like this. Not these other men with their filthy eyes and baseless desires.

Azrya approached the table and sat beside him. The cupbearer silently refilled their goblets, and slowly the conversations resumed, though several eyes still lingered on her, curious about the mysterious new lady.

"Sorry I'm late," she said with a nervous smile.

Akio's voice came low and sharp. "So you took your sweet time getting dolled up to look like a whore."

Her smile vanished.

"Excuse you?" she asked, stunned.

He was clearly tipsy, but that didn't excuse his vile words.

"You wore this," he said, brushing a finger along the swell of her exposed cleavage, "because you wanted attention, didn't you? You wanted every man here to lust after you. Well, congratulations."

Azrya recoiled, staring at him in disbelief. So this was what he was really like—with a bit of drink, his true nature emerged.

But instead of unleashing the string of insults boiling in her throat, she reached for her wine and downed it in one go.

"More," she ordered, holding her cup out to the bearer.

Something told her she was going to need it.

The rest of the evening turned into a silent, bitter war. Rather than enjoy their first night back, the pair engaged in an unspoken contest: who could drink more.

Each time he lifted his cup, she followed. Each time she emptied hers, he mirrored her. Their eyes never broke contact, each glare a blade.

"Hey, Commander," an older knight named Leonardo eventually said, eyeing the rising tension. "Don't you think you and the lady should take it easy?"

He placed a hand on Akio's shoulder—only for Akio to shove him off with a hostile glare that dared further interference.

Leonardo quickly returned to his seat, saying no more.

Azrya, now groggy, could barely keep herself upright. The rich smells of food and the constant noise churned her stomach. She needed air—before she disgraced herself in front of everyone.

She rose unsteadily to her feet, using the table for balance.

"Where are you going?" Akio hissed, grabbing her wrist.

"None of your business!" she snapped, yanking herself free, turning toward the courtyard exit behind them.

She stumbled through the door, the cool night air greeting her flushed skin. Making her way to the grand marble fountain, she sat on its edge, dipping her fingers into the water's calming flow.

"What a s-stupid fool," she slurred bitterly. Her voice trembled.

She had expected him to be happy, maybe even proud of how she'd looked tonight. Instead, she'd been met with venom.

Tears welled in her eyes. The wine only heightened her emotions.

"Hey there, pretty," a voice suddenly called out.

She turned. Two men approached, grinning like wolves.

"You shouldn't be out here all alone," one of them said smoothly.

Panic prickled at her skin. She stood, backing away until her back hit a cold stone wall.

The taller of the two lunged, slamming his hand around her throat, pinning her in place. She clawed at him, but the alcohol had dulled her strength.

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear. "Just relax. We'll show you a good time."

The second man covered her mouth, muffling her cry as the first began tugging at her skirts.

Then, all at once, his body went still.

A gurgled gasp escaped him as a dagger pierced clean through the back of his skull and out through his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin as he collapsed in a lifeless heap.

Azrya's eyes widened in horror.

Standing behind him was Akio, a second dagger already in hand, his eyes gleaming with murderous fury.

The other assailant bolted. Akio didn't hesitate—he threw the blade, hitting the man square in the chest. He dropped like a stone.

Azrya collapsed, scrambling away from Akio, fear now replacing shock.

Her was death incarnate.

As he strode toward her, she tried to rise, but her legs betrayed her. She crawled, desperate to flee, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

But Akio caught up in a single step.

Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms, standing her on shaky feet. She immediately lashed out, fists pounding against his chest, trying to break free.

But he didn't react with anger.

Instead, he pulled her against him, arms encircling her tightly. He pressed her head to his chest so she could hear the thunder of his heart, and gently rested his chin on her crown.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

That was the last thing she heard before the night swallowed her whole and she passed out in his arms.