The silence had teeth.
Veylira stood still in the chamber, her posture perfect, glass dangling loosely from her fingertips, though her eyes never left the woman slumped on the bed.
Lucindra lay across the velvet sheets, one arm flung to the side, her breathing shallow, uneven. The goblet still glistened on the bedside table, half-empty.
She'd swallowed the poisoned wine with no hesitation—no question, no suspicion. Not even a flicker of doubt in her crimson-gold eyes.
That part was… off.
Veylira narrowed her gaze.
Lucindra had always been suspicious. Paranoid, even. She'd built empires on distrust, on backhanded schemes and triple-layered betrayals.
So why had she accepted a drink from the woman she abandoned ten years ago without even a second glance?
Why had she looked—hopeful?
The room was warm. Firelight crackled behind her. The air still smelled faintly of lilac oil and bloodroot. She hadn't moved for several minutes, not since Lucindra's body had gone slack.
