A Vow of Vengeance and Silk

The world dissolved into chaos. One moment, Tristan's blade was at her throat, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered threats like a lover's promise. The next, a cloud of emerald smoke erupted from the ruined bodice of Seraphine's wedding gown, swallowing the room whole. The poison, distilled from nightshade and widow's tears, a recipe she had spent months perfecting, hit the air like a living thing, swirling in thick, choking tendrils. Guards screamed as the mist touched their eyes, their noses, the open wounds on their arms and faces. Their flesh sizzled where the poison made contact, red welts rising like burns. One man clawed at his throat, his voice reduced to a gurgle as his airways swelled shut. Another dropped to his knees, retching blood onto the splintered floorboards. Tristan staggered back, his perfect features contorted in pain. A cough wracked his body, and blood speckled his lips. "You bi…" Seraphine didn't let him finish.

She lunged through the haze, her movements sharp and feral. Her knee drove into his groin with every ounce of strength she possessed, and he folded like a puppet with its strings cut. As he doubled over, she snatched the fallen dagger from the dead guard's throat, still warm, still wet, and pressed it to Tristan's jugular. The blade bit deep enough to draw a thin line of crimson. "Say it," she hissed. The poison swirled around them, clinging to her tattered sleeves, her unbound hair. It made her eyes water, but she didn't blink. "Call me your bride one more time." Across the room, Kaelan moved like a specter through the smoke. His sword flashed, once, twice, steel singing through the haze. The remaining guards fell like wheat before the scythe, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds.

Tristan's laugh was a wet, choking sound. "You won't kill me." Blood bubbled at the corner of his lips, staining his teeth red. "You're still that soft little girl who cried when her pet dove died." The dagger pressed deeper. A single drop of blood traced a path down his throat. "That girl drowned with my dignity in your wedding wine." A hand closed around her wrist, Kaelan's. His gloves were smoking where the poison had eaten through the leather, revealing raw, red skin beneath. His grip was iron. "Not like this," he growled.

She bared her teeth. "Why not?" "Because I need him breathing." Kaelan wrenched Tristan up by his hair, exposing the prince's throat to the fading poison mist. His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for her. "For now." The lodge door burst open. The decoy corpse, the one meant to be her execution, the one stuffed with pig's blood and straw, slumped against the doorframe. Except now it moved. Now it spoke. "Christ's bones, woman!" The "corpse" tore off its death mask, revealing Pip's flushed face beneath. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes wild. "A little warning next time you decide to weaponize your undergarments!"

Rook groaned from the floor, plucking the dagger from her shoulder with a grimace. Blood welled, but she barely seemed to notice. "Remind me never to get you angry."

Seraphine didn't smile. Her gaze locked on her mother, who was watching the scene with something disturbingly like pride. "You knew," Seraphine whispered. Lady Vaelis dabbed at the cut on her cheek with a torn sleeve, her movements unhurried. "About the rebellion? Of course." Her eyes flicked to Kaelan, assessing. "About him? Not until tonight." Kaelan dragged Tristan toward the door, his grip unyielding. "We need to move. More guards will come." The prince spat blood at his feet. "You're dead, Dain. All of you." Pip kicked him in the ribs. "Yes, yes, very scary. March." As they spilled into the moonlit forest, the cold air a shock against Seraphine's poison-stung skin, she caught her mother's arm. The older woman's bones felt fragile beneath her fingers, but her grip was steady. "The Thorn Court rebellion. Our money. Our people. Why?" Her mother's smile was a knife in the dark. "Because some of us prefer queens to kings." A horn sounded in the distance, low, mournful, a sound that set Seraphine's teeth on edge.

Kaelan cursed. "They've found us." Seraphine looked down at her poison stained hands, at the way the emerald residue clung to her skin like a second set of veins. Then at Tristan's stumbling form, at the blood smeared across his lips. At the burning lodge behind them, its flames licking at the sky.

Somewhere, a dove cried, a sound so out of place in this nightmare that it made her chest ache. She wiped her dagger clean on her ruined skirts. Let them come.