Page 2 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“Yes.” She laughed softly. “At last.” No more room full of strangers or her parents’ old friends.

Cornelius carried her over the threshold, a proper bride and groom, and Dulce couldn’t hide her smile. Two lanterns illuminated the stone foyer with its many plants and ornate rugs. Once on her feet, Dulce lit the candles around the sitting room until her beautiful groom was bathed in a warm orange glow.

Her gaze meeting his, Dulce’s heart thrummed against her ribcage, singing its own sweet lullaby. Was this the moment she would fall in love with him? Should she grasp her husband by the hand and lead him to theirbedroom where they could mold their bodies together beneath the silken sheets? Perhaps now would be the perfect time to loosen the buttons of her wedding gown, to cross the room and unfasten his trousers.

Dulce blushed at the thought.

Surely it would be more proper to converse first? Her tongue suddenly felt heavy in her mouth, no words escaping her. Dulce trusted her own judgment—she hadn’t made a mistake in marrying him. She would be a good wife to Cornelius, and shewouldfall in love with him. Hopefully very soon.

“How about I brew us each a nice hot cup of lavender tea?” he asked with a smile. “Then we can … talk.”

His smile really was lovely. Dulce inwardly sighed and pressed a hand against his firm chest. Really, Cornelius was the most considerate of husbands, recognizing her nerves and being happy to soothe them.

“That sounds perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”

No matter what ailed her, lavender tea was akin to a cure.

“You just relax, darling.” He guided her into the nearest chaise lounge and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. “That’s better. I’ll return shortly.”

Dulce released a long, relieved breath yet couldn’t relax. She brushed her palms down her ivory gown, the poofy sleeves tickling her skin, as she stood and sat at her father’s piano. He’d taught her how to play when she’d begged him at four years old after hearing one of the songs he’d created. She still loved the piano as much as reading dark and dreary poems. Pressing her fingers to the ivory keys, she played a gentle, moody melody, and thoughts of the first time she’d met Cornelius in themarket at Vesta’s palm reading booth drifted through her mind.

Every Saturday, Dulce would visit the market to choose fresh fruit, look at the latest dresses through the shop windows, and stop by Vesta’s fortune-telling booth to keep her company. Vesta had always been more like family, treating Dulce like her own daughter.

Dulce enjoyed the reactions of Vesta’s eager customers. It never failed that someone would come along praying Vesta could provide them with a romantic match. One spring morning, a tall, alluring man approached the booth—Cornelius. Dulce had been wearing a simple black dress that day, and she’d looked easy to mistake for a commoner sitting behind Vesta’s booth. Holding a recently repaired horse bridle, she had recognized him at once from one of the summer solstice parties.

“Oh.” He leaned on the table, ignoring the cards strewn across it. “I hadn’t realized the market palm reader was so breathtaking. This meeting must be good fortune.” Cornelius gave her a lopsided smile, his rich hazel eyes sparkling.

Dulce arched a brow. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls in the market.”

“No.” He straightened, answering in all seriousness, “Only this one.”

Dulce halted her movements on the piano keys and thought about how gentlemanly Cornelius had been toward her during their courtship. He would arrive nearly every day just in time for afternoon tea, treating the staff as wonderfully and courteously as her father always had, which was another reason she’d accepted his proposal.

She pushed up from the piano and drew the lacywindow curtains aside, peering out the glass into the garden. A fox burst from a hydrangea bush in the moonlight and darted past the conservatory, its jolly yips reaching her. An owl hooted in an alder tree, and she caught the rustle of its snowy wings.

Turning from the window, she studied the sitting room. Once her parents succumbed to illnesses alchemy couldn’t even cure, Dulce had left nothing changed in the house, keeping everything the same, as her mother had it, holding onto their memory for as long as she could. Until about a year ago, when she began, one by one, to change out some of the household items at last. But never her mother’s vases or paintings. Marigolds and daisies, her mother’s favorite, always filled the vases, removed only when the flowers withered, replaced by fresh blooms.

A throat cleared behind her, and Dulce whirled to find Cornelius holding out a cup of tea toward her. She scolded herself for nearly forgetting his presence, so lost in memories as she was.

“Thank you,” Dulce breathed, grasping the porcelain handle. She blew against the tea’s aromatic steam while Cornelius took a long, slow sip from his cup.

“Drink up.” Cornelius smiled. “A man could grow impatient to take his bride back into his arms. Especially the most exquisite bride to ever live.”

Heat crept into Dulce’s cheeks, and she pressed her lips to the cup, drinking down the delicate lavender tea.

Its floral flavor didn’t linger in her mouth as usual. Instead, a slight bitterness, a flavor at once alarming and familiar, intensified.

Dulce tried to gasp, but her throat tightened, and her tongue became numb, swelling, the flesh filling hermouth until she choked.

The room swayed, and she reached out for her husband, yet Cornelius’s dreamy smile only grew, turning insidious as he stood watching her. Making no move to help her.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred.

Her husband had done this. She’d married him, and he was killing her. Murdered on her wedding day.

“You poisoned me,” Dulce managed, choking, her legs weakening, her feet sliding against the carpet. Pain filled her insides, twisting.

Mother’s favorite silk carpet, she thought stupidly when its amber and lapis-colored fibers loomed closer.

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