Chapter 3 Whispers in the Dark

The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves as the wind weaved through the estate gardens. The moon cast eerie silver beams over the stone pathway, barely illuminating the figures that stood shrouded in the dimly lit passage, their forms almost blending into the darkness. The smell of damp earth and blooming flowers filled the air, thick and cloying, almost suffocating in its quiet beauty.

The figures spoke in hushed tones, their voices sharp and urgent, as if each word carried the weight of a thousand secrets. If anyone had the misfortune of passing by and listening carefully, they might have caught snippets of their conversation-enough to know that something sinister was unfolding right under the palace's nose.

One of them, tall and cloaked in a dark, tattered garment, exhaled sharply, his frustration apparent. "You're getting too comfortable. Too careless." His voice was low, but it trembled with barely contained irritation. The cool night air seemed to press in on him, making him more agitated. He took a step forward, his boots scraping against the stone. "You act so damn virtuous in public, I almost believed you'd forgotten what we came here to do."

The second figure, shorter but equally formidable, stiffened at the rebuke. Their face was partially concealed by a hood, but the flash of their eyes, wild and defensive, could still be seen. "You think I've forgotten?" Their voice, though steady, carried an edge. "You're the one who wants to rush everything. We have to blend in. We can't afford to draw suspicion, not yet. You want us dead?"

The first figure let out a humorless laugh, but it lacked any warmth. "You know what happens if we're caught," he growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His voice dropped even lower, now laced with venom. "What we're doing... it's punishable by death."

The weight of those words hung heavy between them. The second figure said nothing at first, feeling the gravity of the moment settle over them like a stormcloud. Their throat tightened, a strange unease crawling under their skin. Every step they had taken to get this far now felt as though it might lead them into an abyss.

"I know," the second figure muttered after a beat. Their voice was quieter now, tinged with something that almost resembled fear. "But we have no choice, do we? After all... after everything we've done... there's no turning back."

The first figure's gaze softened, if only just slightly. "No, there's no turning back," they whispered. "But we're too close to fail now."

A moment passed before the second figure broke the silence, their voice a little less steady. "Now that she's with the physicians, what's next?" They shifted their weight from one foot to the other, glancing nervously around, as if the shadows themselves might betray them.

The first figure smiled-a cold, dangerous smile that made the air feel colder. "I guess it's time we let out the truth." The words were casual, almost dismissive, but there was an underlying cruelty in them. "Not that it matters. She's going to die in the end. Wolfsbane tea isn't something one just walks away from."

The second figure's stomach churned at the mention of the poisonous brew. They had seen it before-the slow, agonizing way it robbed a person of their strength, their life. They had seen the effects up close, and it was never pretty. "But... it's so slow," they said, their voice barely above a whisper. "It takes too long."

The first figure's expression hardened, eyes narrowing. "You think she'll have time to do anything? Think about it. By the time the physicians realize what's happening, it'll be too late."

The second figure swallowed hard. They knew what the first figure meant. They had no illusions about the potency of wolfsbane. A few drops could send a person into a fevered delirium. A full cup, though... It was death in the slowest, most painful way imaginable.

As the conversation shifted into darker territory, a faint sound suddenly reached their ears-a soft scraping of shoes against the stone path, barely audible but unmistakable. The second figure's eyes darted towards the noise, heart racing. Someone was coming. They could feel the air around them thicken with the approach of another.

Without a word, the second figure slipped into the shadows like a ghost, moving so quickly that their figure barely registered in the dim light. The first figure, however, was slower to react, instinctively pressing themselves against the stone wall, hoping the darkness would shield them. They held their breath, praying they wouldn't be noticed.

The footsteps grew louder, and in a flash, the figure turned just in time to see the silhouette of a man standing in the glow of the torchlight. A flash of recognition passed through the first figure's mind, but there was no time to think further. The voice that followed made their blood run cold.

"Oh, Your Majesty. I didn't see you there."

The tension that had been building exploded in the first figure's chest, but they forced their body to remain still. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to run, but they couldn't. The voice was too familiar, too dangerous. It was Frederick, the guard who was on patrol tonight.

From the shadows, the figure turned their head slowly, their expression unreadable. The flickering torchlight revealed the secret.

Then, the figure let out a soft chuckle-low, controlled. "Just needed some time alone to clear my head, Frederick."

The voice was unmistakable.

King Lucien.

His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if he had been expecting to be caught.

The figure stepped out of the shadows, careful to keep their face hidden.

Frederick hesitated for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read something in the king's expression. There was something off about the whole scene, something Frederick couldn't put his finger on. It was the king's calmness, the way he stood there in the dark, like he was waiting for something-or someone.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Frederick replied stiffly, bowing his head. But his gaze lingered, not convinced by the king's words. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "I'll take my leave," he added, forcing the words out despite his growing suspicion.

Lucien's eyes flicked to the direction the guard had come from before his lips stretched into a faint smile. "Very well. I'll be fine," he murmured. He made a show of turning away, strolling down the garden path with a measured pace.

But Frederick didn't leave. Not entirely. His instincts kicked in, a deep, nagging sense that something wasn't right. He watched Lucien's retreating form, the king's steps confident and slow, and his gut twisted in conflict. He should leave. But his legs carried him forward, silently slipping back into the shadows, determined to keep watch.

So he made a decision.

Instead of leaving, he circled around the garden path, careful to keep his steps light as he found cover behind a tall rose bush.

He moved swiftly, keeping a safe distance behind his king. Lucien's steps were measured, deliberate, as he made his way through the dimly lit halls of the palace. Down towards the kitchen halls and just when Frederick was about to take the sharp turn towards that same route-

THWACK.

A sharp crack rang through the air.

Pain exploded at the back of his skull, white-hot and blinding. His vision blurred, the world tilting violently.

His knees buckled. The torch slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud against the stone path.

He barely registered the sound of someone exhaling sharply behind him. The world around him spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of his sight.

Just before his consciousness slipped entirely, he heard a voice.

A voice filled with unmistakable irritation.

"Lady Seraphina, what was that for?!"

Then, everything went black.