The corridor was silent save for the soft rhythm of Cecilus's footsteps as he ascended the stairs. The faint glow of lanterns along the walls brushed his white sleeves with gold, and in his hand he held a small glass vial. The liquid inside shimmered faintly blue, rippling with each careful step.
Poison. Christaines father died by poison.
He turned the vial between his fingers, watching the liquid slide along the glass. It's become the fashion lately — an elegant weapon for cowards. A favored choice for eliminating those who support the Convergence.
He remembered Regnier's thoughts yesterday, the ones that had sealed his fate. His uncle had made it clear he stood with the Council, not with Reymund.
If he dies of poison now, the Council will only suspect their own. To everyone else, it will look like we've lost an ally, not murdered one.
A thin smile crossed his lips. That was your mistake, Regnier. You should have acted the moment I threatened you. Instead, you hesitated. Now you're neither useful nor safe — and a threat, once it's useless, only has one purpose left.
The vial glimmered again in the low light.
This won't please the Council. But by the time they piece it together, I'll be long gone from their petty game of crowns.
The poison was a blend of the cyanthalyss flower — a rare blue bloom from the nearby forests — mixed with water. When ground and dissolved, it became a toxin that slipped into the bloodstream without taste, scent, or color. But what made it perfect was its timing: the poison waited until sleep to strike.
A subtle death, unseen and untraceable.
It had taken him only an hour to prepare. During the ball, Cecilus had sent Aldo to find the flower, and once he'd returned to his room, he worked quietly by candlelight. The room had smelled faintly of crushed petals and metal. He'd emptied a vial of soothing elixir from his luggage and replaced it with the poison, then poured the mixture into a bottle of wine.
He twirled the bottle gently in his hand as he stepped through the shadowed hall.
Time to share a drink with my dear uncle.
Through Aldo's eyes, Cecilus watched Regnier pacing his room — a mess of open drawers and scattered parchment. The wolf crouched invisibly by the door, its eyes faintly gleaming.
Aldo could mask his body to near-transparency, but Cecilus could only see through his eyes when the creature allowed a hint of form to remain — a spectral outline shimmering in the dark.
Still hiding, Regnier? Scheming your way out? You always were predictable.
Cecilus turned the corner and reached the correct door. He knocked twice. There was the sound of shuffling, a drawer snapping shut, and then the latch clicked.
Regnier appeared in the doorway, his face pale beneath the lamplight.
"Why are you here?" His tone was sharp, cautious.
"To drink, of course." Cecilus lifted the bottle slightly, his smile faint but pleasant. "It seemed a shame for you to be alone up here while everyone else is celebrating below."
Regnier raised a brow, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "You think I can trust you, brat?"
"I didn't want our little disagreement yesterday to sour things between us," Cecilus replied evenly. "Alison and Timothy are my cousins. A minor feud shouldn't divide the family, don't you think?"
He uncorked the bottle and raised it to his lips. The wine slid down — or appeared to. Hidden from Regnier's view, the liquid never reached his throat; it vanished midair, dissolving into faint purple light inside his mouth.
Regnier exhaled, relief softening his features.
Oh… good. For a moment, I thought the boy had poisoned it. But he's too naïve for that. His mind quieted, though Cecilus could feel the tension still pulsing beneath. Maybe I was wrong about him. Humoring the child for a drink won't hurt.
"Ha! You can hold your liquor, then. A true man already!" Regnier laughed, a brittle sound that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Cecilus stepped forward into the room, offering him the bottle. Regnier accepted — and drank.
A smile crept over Cecilus's face.
This fool. He really thought I wouldn't be capable of this. No one ever suspects a child. Especially not one who smiles while handing them the glass.
He watched Regnier lower the bottle.
And don't worry, Father… I didn't even have to taste the wine.
A sudden thought drifted through his head, almost comical in contrast. Wait — the wedding's tomorrow. Will they cancel it if the bride's father drops dead in the morning? He shrugged inwardly. Oh well. That's a problem for future me.
He turned toward the door. "Alright then. I just wanted to make sure we were on good terms, Uncle."
"Leaving already? Stay for another drink. You've barely had any."
"No, my family's probably wondering where I went."
"Fine. Have fun then. I'd join you, but I've got work to do."
Cecilus smiled one last time and stepped out. As the door clicked shut behind him, that smile hardened into something darker — a sharp glint beneath his calm.
Now… how will I explain this to Father?
But when he returned to the ballroom, his concerns faded. His parents were still dancing beneath the chandeliers, the orchestra swelling around them, while his siblings laughed over their plates. No one seemed to have noticed his absence.
"Where were you?" Zylee asked as he sat down.
Ah, she's worried. I'd better make this sound reasonable.
"I needed some fresh air," he said lightly.
That's… a terrible excuse. But maybe she's gullible enough to buy it.
"Oh," she replied. "A pretty girl came looking for you. Said you ordered food and then left."
Damn it! I completely forgot about that. I just walked out after talking to that old man — it got too awkward. And now Zylee thinks I went for a stroll? Or maybe she doesn't care at all.
Ayas said nothing, quietly finishing his meal as if Cecilus didn't exist.
Resigned, Cecilus rose again and made his way toward Cristaine's table.
This is going to be unbearable. I gave her that perfect farewell, and now I'm back like some lost puppy. Maybe I can just grab the plate and leave.
But as soon as he approached, Cristaine's eyes met his. Surprise flickered there — and maybe something else.
Alright. I'll deal with it. Food first, shame later.
He sat, glancing at the untouched plate of chicken and vegetables. He pressed a finger to the meat — lukewarm at best.
Cold food and embarrassment. What more could I ask for?
He ate in silence, the din of the ball filling the air around him — laughter, clinking glasses, the distant hum of the waltz. When he finished, he gave Cristaine a polite nod and returned to sit beside his siblings.
***
Meanwhile, upstairs, the music faded beneath layers of stone.
Reymund had left the dance floor after a final turn with Yeldove, his thoughts restless.
Regnier's reaction yesterday wasn't one of simple fear. Not of a man whose secret is merely a bastard son. He's hiding something deeper… and if he's truly betrayed us to the Council, I need to know before it's too late.
He made his way toward the staircase, keeping his movements quiet, discreet.
I don't want Cecilus dragged into this. He's sharp — sharper than most grown men — but he's still a child. He doesn't need familial blood on his conscience yet.
The upper halls were dim, the torches low. Reymund stopped before Regnier's room and knocked twice. No answer. The door creaked slightly open.
He pushed it gently and peered inside.
Regnier was slumped on his bed, head tilted slightly to one side, a half-empty glass on the table beside him.
Reymund stepped forward. "Regnier?"
No response. He touched his cousin's shoulder. The skin was cold.
His eyes darted to the desk — to the open letter resting beneath the lamplight. The seal was broken. He unfolded it.
From Valter Ascension
The payment as required has been decided. Your son Timothy will be set to marry my sister. All that is left is your role. Burn this letter after you read it. The one flaw left in this country is not the elves or the old fools who cling to tradition. It is a boy.
The true man who once raised this continent has begun to move again — and the pawn he uses to disrupt it already stands before us. That pawn is the son of Reymund Ascension, known as Cecilus Crow.
This boy must die. We have already begun the plan, but he is not so easily destroyed. You will either lead him astray or kill him when the time comes. If your contributions prove sufficient, the agreement will be honored.
I warn you — the boy is a devil. The world will never be safe if he rules.
Reymund's fingers tightened on the page. His breath came slow and deliberate.
Valter… the Council's little lapdog. Damn it all. He's already moving.
He turned back toward the bed. Regnier… you were supposed to be family. You—
He stopped. No heartbeat. No pulse.
He's dead?
Panic pricked at the edge of his thoughts. If anyone sees me here—
He folded the letter, shoved it under his coat, and stepped back into the hall.
Could Cecilus have…? No. He wouldn't. Not this fast. Unless he figured out everything on his own…
But the thought refused to leave him.
Back in the ballroom, Reymund's eyes searched the crowd until they found Cecilus, seated calmly beside his siblings. He gestured subtly for him to follow.
Once they were out of earshot, Reymund spoke in a low tone. "Did you deal with it?"
"Yes, Father," Cecilus replied, voice quiet but steady. "I saw it in his thoughts. I acted quickly and removed the problem. It wasn't worth your time."
Reymund stared at him — at the composure, the ease with which he said it.
Not worth my time. You uncovered betrayal, decided on justice, and carried it out before I could even confirm it.
He exhaled slowly.
"Alright. Let's return, then," Cecilus said, gesturing toward the table.
Reymund followed, silent.
He's dead… and my son killed him without hesitation. While I was still debating whether I could.