Page 21 of Poisoned Empire

The cavernous hall with its carved, painted columns was full to bursting with nobles dancing, making small talk or slipping off into the perfectly pruned gardens outside. An army of enchanted lights winked above, sparkling against the gold and silver painted ceiling and making the room as bright as mid-day. With the crush of bodies, only cooling spells kept the airy hall from turning uncomfortably humid in the summer heat.

“I would like to assure you that your sisters are being looked after by dashing noblemen under my direction, and they’ll be assigned new servants I’ve handpicked for the task. Their rooms have been searched, and the knives have all been confiscated. For now, you need only concern yourself with enjoying your days here in the capital,” he whispered between steps.

And just like that, a brutal burden lifted from her shoulders. She choked back tears of relief. Finally, there was a chance to escape the magister’s cruel grasp without leaving dead bodies in her wake.

“Thank you, Praetor. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He seemed genuinely pleased to hear it.

“It was nothing. Please know that you may come to me with any troubles you have.”

“Ah, that would be very reassuring.”

Iliana fixed a polite smile on her face. Sweet words aside, were she anyone else, would he even give her the time of day? Would he do anything more than report her for impersonating her sister? To men like this, she was just another disposable commoner.

“Yes, well I wanted to keep you informed. In a few moments some women may feel faint, your sisters among them, but it will pass and they will be safer for it, so try not to be overly upset when that happens.”

“Is this part of your plan to bring the magistri to justice?”

Nicephorus smiled but kept his counsel. A slither of unease curled in her gut, but what could she do? Just as Nicephorus said, a few noblewomen did indeed lose their footing, but each and every one had partners who, to the last, gallantly lead them off the floor and brought them refreshments. Iliana relaxed her shoulders. She was about to tell Nicephorus something banal when she caught sight of the bewildered prince holding Selene in his arms—unconscious.

“Tell me, Prince, are you colour-blind?”

“I don’t know why you would think so,” Belisarius replied.

He looked at her as though she were spectacularly dull. It was a challenge Selene couldn’t pass up.

“Well, I’m unsure how anyone could wear so much crimson without already being blinded to it. Perhaps you simply have very bad taste? Or would that be your seamstress? Do you even choose your clothes and dress yourself, or do you have people to do that for you?”

“Are you certain all those poisons haven’t rotted your brain? I, for one, have my doubts.”

She held back a snort. Insulting a man to his face had never been so much fun.

“If my brain is rotted,darling, what does that say about the man who wants me for his bride?” She blinked up at him.

“Don’t let the momentary status go to your head. I’m not sure your ego would be able to fit in a ballroom as paltry as this.” He rolled his eyes.

The ballroom comfortably entertained a thousand guests, of course, but she’d landed a blow. A prince rolling his eyes? It tasted like victory.

“You’re right. Next to your conceit, there’s very little room left to manoeuvre.”

Black brows inched further down his forehead the longer she taunted him. Now his expression was anything but bored as a flush spread across his terra-cotta cheeks. In retaliation, he pulled her into a complicated set of steps she couldn’t possibly keep up with. Hopelessly outmatched, she tried to slam her heel down on his toes, but the prince was fast on his feet, his rich, cheerful laugh at her antics spurring her anger. Then he upped the pace. It was all she could do not to trip. To finish, he twirled her with ease and posed her prettily for the final note. As their audience clapped politely, Selene’s blood boiled. Only her long skirts had ensured she hadn’t looked like a complete fool as she’d been tossed about. Worst of all, not a single obsidian strand on his head was out of place.

Just as the next song was starting, he turned a smug expression her way. She smiled back and then roundly crushed his toes with her heel. His momentary grimace was all the reward she’d get as he kept his hold on her.

“Allow me to escort you to the seats. You look like you could use a moment to collect yourself.”

His triumphant expression galled her. She had a few poisons she hadn’t tested out. Was it still treason if he didn’t die?

“And you look like a wet bird tumbled out of a vat of red paint.”

If her voice was more mewling than she’d meant, it was due to her laboured breathing and nothing more.

“Perhaps, but this bird is in high demand this evening, so be a good girl and try not to be too boorish while I’m away.”

“I-” Overwhelming dizziness stopped her. The prince wore an uncharacteristically bewildered expression before he too began to swirl. “Dihya,” she managed to croak out before she fainted.

“Have you identified all of the affected noblewomen?”

---