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Tanwen learned that terror had a taste.

It was a metallic flare across her tongue as she stepped into the king’s private receiving room.

“This is insane,” whispered Huw at her side, his eyes wide as he drank in the opulent space. Neither of them had ever been inside these grand chambers. They were usually saved for official use: greeting esteemed guests and meetings with various aristocrats.

But tonight, they had been decorated to honor the theme of the evening.

The towering columns were draped in blue and seafoam fabric, the cavernous space illuminated by flickering bowls. The effect created a secretive, if not lurid, atmosphere.

The night sky peeked through the large skylights above, offering a glimpse of freedom beyond, though Tanwen noted the guards stationed around the room. Their austere expressions and sheathed blades didn’t help her growing unease.

“I would have preferred to stay in the public gathering,” Tanwen muttered, her eyes darting nervously to every alcove and tucked-away exit.

There had been more ways to escape in the grand hall.

More ways for her to blend in and disappear.

Not to mention, Zolya was out there, his devastated expression as the doors had severed their connection seared into her mind.

In here, Tanwen was at the mercy of the guards to allow her leave. Nothing about this situation spoke of remaining innocuous. Especially since the entire gathering was perhaps thirty in total, including atentés.

With Tanwen’s worries compounding, her thoughts went to her father and brother, who waited for her.

How will I get to them now? she thought with dread.

She moved in a fog, following Huw and the other servants deeper into the room, eventually fanning out to service the various courtiers, who lounged on low settees and padded benches.

Tanwen became automated as she cleaned skin and offered up a knife before dropping docüra into fresh cuts. Over and over and over.

But in her periphery, her attention hovered at the head of the room, where King Réol reclined in regal repose as wine and refreshments were continually brought forth.

While Tanwen bandaged her most recent satiated client, her stomach churned as she watched Süra servants meticulously test each dish and drink that was brought into the room, their solemn expressions betraying the gravity of their task.

But amid everything, Tanwen’s gaze fixated on Lady Esme, who sat nearest the king.

She was clearly his preferred companion for the night.

His hands lingered a beat too long on her knee or against her wrist as they remained locked in conversation.

Inwardly, Tanwen recoiled at the thought of being touched by the king, but Lady Esme’s composure was a marvel.

Tanwen didn’t know how she could so gracefully endure the unwanted attention of a man she despised. Though perhaps her poise stemmed from the looming prospect of the king’s death.

At the thought, Tanwen’s nerves buzzed. Was this where they planned to do it? Within this private gathering? She glanced around the room once more—no sign of the princess.

Tanwen frowned.

If the princess wasn’t here, would they wait?

Who held the stone?

And what would happen if an opportunity didn’t arise?

Would they lose their nerve?

No. Tanwen tried to assuage her worries. They have to do it tonight, soon, otherwise the princess is as good as married, as good as dead.

They couldn’t back out now. Certainly not Lady Esme.

Tanwen knew too well what someone would do to save the ones they loved.

Forcing calm, Tanwen discreetly slipped from the group of guests she had finished servicing, seeking solace within a column’s shadow.

The atmosphere in the room had grown increasingly debauched. Clothes slipped away, revealing breasts and chests, chatter turning to moans.

Tanwen did her best to ignore the scene as she concentrated on Lady Esme, who had motioned for a servant to bring more wine.

Tanwen watched with rising disquiet as Lady Esme took the full decanter, gesturing that she would like the honor of pouring for His Eminence. But before she could, one of her dress straps slipped from her shoulder, diverting the king’s gaze to her more exposed bosom.

Lady Esme laughed demurely, a flutter to her lashes as King Réol’s expression darkened with his desire. Slowly, she worked the strap back up with one finger.

And that’s when it happened.

Tanwen caught the subtle sleight of hand with Lady Esme’s other.

Tanwen’s breath held as Lady Esme deftly slipped Maryth’s tear into the red wine decanter resting in her lap.

Tanwen’s grip on her tray tightened, her pulse fluttering with anxious anticipation in her veins.

She waited for someone else to have noticed, guards to come running, but the room continued in its oblivious revelry.

Poison churned innocuously in the wine Lady Esme poured for the king.

She offered up the tainted cup to King Réol, her smile concealing her deadly intent.

But then everything took a turn when he gestured for her to partake as well.

“My cup is already full, Your Grace,” Tanwen could hear Lady Esme reply.

“Not nearly full enough,” he urged, gesturing for her to obey.

Lady Esme faltered for a moment, but because no one dared to defy the king, quickly she was forced to recover.

Lady Esme topped off her glass with the soiled wine, her gestures stiff.

“To you,” the king declared, raising his cup, “and your new honor of your services to me.”

This was the only time all evening that Lady Esme’s smile broke.

From over the king’s shoulder, she briefly met Tanwen’s gaze.

A flash of regret and sorrow and grief filled her features, but then her expression shifted to a steely determination.

For my princess. Tanwen could imagine Lady Esme altering the king’s salute. For my love.

Tanwen’s heart stopped, her mind screaming, No!

Horror and tragedy enveloped the room as Lady Esme lifted her cup to her lips and drank.