Page 25 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Eleven

ELIZABETH

T he soft caress of the morning sun danced across my eyelids, coaxing them to flutter open like butterfly wings stirred by the first breath of dawn. Its warmth traced lazy patterns over my skin, whispering promises of a new day, painting my chamber in hues of honey and amber.

For a fleeting moment, I let myself sink into the golden embrace of morning, but then—reality.

My mind, still caught in the tangled web of the past few days, spun too fast to grasp anything solid. Yet one memory refused to fade, clinging to me like the scent of rain on parched earth—the kiss with Amir.

His lips had been a revelation, igniting something deep, something untamed within me.

It was a kiss that wasn’t just a kiss but a whispered promise, a fleeting taste of something forbidden—something I hadn’t known I was starving for.

It had branded me, a spark setting every nerve alight, making the clumsy, forgettable peck from Peter—the baker’s son—seem laughably insignificant in comparison.

How could a kiss like that exist?

It had unraveled me, shattered me, and made me ache in ways I had never experienced before. But as I savored its lingering heat, a bitter truth crept in like an unwelcome ghost.

He had pulled away first.

Leaving me breathless. Alone.

Amidst the ruins of that brief, intoxicating encounter, I was left with nothing but questions. Why? When every fiber of his being had seemed so fiercely entwined with mine at that moment, why had he withdrawn? What held him back?

What shadows lurked behind those dark, intense eyes?

I lay there, tangled in my sheets, my heartbeat still betraying me with its unsteady rhythm. I couldn’t ignore the way Amir had stepped between me and my father’s wrath, how he had followed me home, a silent shield against the storm. And then—he lied for me.

Why?

He was an enigma—all razor-cut angles and guarded walls, his clipped words and stoic veneer daring me to look deeper, to see what he wouldn’t show.

Could a man indeed be as dangerous as he claimed yet still choose to protect me?

Or was the real danger not in him—but in what I was beginning to feel for him?

The questions spun through my mind, a tangled web of uncertainty, each thread leading back to him.

Lord Amir Hassan, with his swarthy Mediterranean complexion—a face carved from the shadows he battled—remained a mystery.

And yet, despite the secrets that shrouded him, something unseen tethered him to me.

An invisible thread binding us together in ways I was only beginning to understand.

I propped myself up on the downy pillows, reaching for my diary—hidden beneath their soft embrace. My fingers brushed against the folded note within its pages, the inked words “I wish things were different, my love,” bleeding into the parchment like a wound too deep to heal.

The word “love” lingered, curling around my heart like an incantation, filling me with an ache that refused to subside. What would it feel like if Amir truly wanted me? If he let go of whatever restraint kept him at arm’s length and surrendered to the undeniable pull between us?

But deep down, I knew.

These were nothing but daydreams, fragile illusions that could never bridge the chasm between fantasy and reality.

And yet, I clung to them.

Every stroke of ink, every curve of his handwriting, tethered me to a different possibility—one where I could flee from Lord Winston’s looming shadow and into Amir’s enigmatic embrace.

Why couldn’t it be different?

The question seared through me as I closed the diary with a soft thud, the weight of unspoken dreams pressing down on my chest. I longed to shed the shackles of betrothal and duty, run wild and free, and choose my own fate.

To choose him.

A shudder rippled through me—not from the morning air’s chill, but from the memory that slithered through my consciousness unbidden.

The Black Wraith.

His kiss had been a storm—violent and consuming, leaving destruction in its wake. It burned as fiercely as Amir’s own, yet where Amir’s touch was restraint warring with desire, the Wraith’s was pure, unbridled possession.

It was danger wrapped in seduction, an intoxicating connection that had left my lips bruised and my soul aflame.

I sucked in a breath, my pulse quickening. Two men. Two dangers.

And I was caught between them, drawn like a moth to a fire that could devour me whole.

In the sanctuary of my chamber, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence—a fleeting marvel at the boldness I had unearthed within myself. An innocent virgin, once destined for an arranged, loveless marriage, now teetered on the precipice of reckless desire.

Passion called to me. Temptation whispered promises in the dark.

A life untouched by disgust. A life where I would not wilt in the shadow of duty but blaze in the light of my choosing.

“Elizabeth,” I chided myself, the sound of my name a reprimand, a tether meant to pull me back to reason. I had been careless. Foolish. My heart had become a battlefield, torn between the storm that was Amir and the abyss that was the Black Wraith.

But as I rebuked myself, the truth slithered through my mind, undeniable and relentless.

I craved the fire.

I wanted to be consumed by it, to feel something real before I was snuffed out by fate’s cold, merciless hands.

The thought of submitting—of bowing my head, folding my hands, and accepting a future of cold duty beneath Lord Winston’s loathsome touch—made my stomach churn.

I would not bear it.

No.

I would chase the inferno. If only to blaze for a moment before the darkness claimed me.

A quick breath, a shake of my head—a futile attempt to silence the thoughts spun by men who had no right to linger in my mind.

“Men! Bah!” The whispered exclamation slipped from my lips, fierce and defiant.

Let them haunt me, let their touch linger on my skin like a ghost—I had more pressing matters than the war waged in my veins.

A new vow coiled within me, dark and unforgiving.

The elimination of my father’s society.

The destruction of Lord Winston.

They perched atop my intentions like carrion birds waiting to feast, but I would not be their victim. I would be their undoing.

I needed to craft the perfect poison—a concoction as potent and final as the resolve that now steeled my heart.

No more hiding.

No more fear.

Today, I became something else.

Something formidable.

* * *

As Mary entered to dress me, I stood tall, my movements no longer that of a girl shackled by duty but of a woman who had set herself free.

And when I descended the grand staircase, my simple gown whispering against the polished wood, it was with purpose in every step.

My father awaited me in his private sitting room.

He had no idea what was coming.

“Good morning, Father!” My voice was almost too bright—like the sun spilling through the gauzy curtains, warm and deceptive. The scent of his black coffee curled in the crisp morning air, mingling with the faint hint of ink from his freshly pressed newspaper.

Surprise flashing across his features, he looked up before it melted into something softer. Something pleased. The paper crinkled in his hands as he set it aside, his full attention settling on me like an embrace I had once sought but now endured.

“Elizabeth,” he greeted, his tone infused with warmth. “What brings you down so early?”

I stepped forward, leaning in to press my lips to his cheek—a daughter’s affection or perhaps the prelude to a betrayal yet unseen.

I met his gaze as I sat across from him at the small table where he took his solitary meals.

“I have been thinking, Father,” I said, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my gown as if to still the storm beneath my skin.

“I realized you were right. I want to take on my responsibilities. I want to join your society.”

The words hung between us, weighty with unspoken truths, heavy with deception.

I saw it for the first time in my life—true pride flickering in his eyes, a rare and dangerous thing. He did not question me, did not hesitate. Because, in his mind, this was inevitable.

“You’ve made the right decision, Elizabeth,” he declared, his voice swelling with paternal satisfaction. “I knew you would come around. You were always meant for this.”

A chill slithered down my spine, but I forced a smile, tilting my head in a way that made me look demure and obedient. He saw what he wanted to see.

Good.

A soft knock at the door broke the moment, followed by the delicate hush of footsteps across the plush carpet. A maid approached, her gaze politely lowered. “Lady Elizabeth, what will you have for breakfast?”

“Just tea, please. And bread with butter.”

My stomach was already a battlefield, twisting itself into intricate knots that could rival the finest lace. I doubted I could stomach anything more substantial—not when my mind was already steeped in something more consuming.

Across from me, my father had already returned to his paper, The Daily Courant, claiming his attention again.

I had just given him the greatest news—the supposed fulfillment of his ambitions for me—and yet, already, I was invisible again.

The world’s affairs ensnared him, his mind wandering through ink and print while I sat in silence, nibbling at the crust of my bread.

A daughter. A future heir. And yet, still, a shadow.

I was considering whether to break that silence when the butler’s voice sliced through the quiet, shattering the fragile peace of the morning.

“My lord, Lord Hassan has arrived. Shall I see him in?”

I barely had time to react before my father nodded, glancing up from the page.

But I felt it.

A pulse—an unbidden rush of warmth spreading through me like fire in my veins, an embarrassing tide rising fast.

The door opened, and then… him.

Lord Amir Hassan.