Chapter 5 The poison in the walls

The winds howled louder than usual that night.

They whipped against the towers of Duskfall Keep like claws on stone, shaking the windowpanes of the North Wing and whispering through the cracks beneath the doors. Peach Reigns stood at her balcony, staring down at the valley below, where the red mist was thicker than ever-clinging to the cliffs like a shroud.

Something had changed since the feast.

She could feel it.

Demetrius had retreated to the lower wings immediately upon their return, summoned by a cryptic message sealed in black wax. He'd given her no explanation, only a brief glance before disappearing into the shadows with Alric trailing behind.

Peach hadn't seen him since.

Now, two days later, the castle felt... wrong.

Not in its usual, unsettling way. This was deeper. Rotten.

The servants avoided eye contact. The hallways were quieter than normal. And a strange smell-something sour, metallic-began to creep through the corridors.

On the third morning, Peach noticed the blood.

It had begun as a faint smear along the edge of a windowsill. Just a few drops. But by midday, she saw it again-along the banister of the main stairwell. Then again on the floor near the servants' passage.

Fresh. Red. Uncleaned.

She followed it down.

---

The servants' quarters were nearly empty.

A few pale, thin figures moved quietly between rooms, heads lowered, faces drawn. One girl, no older than fifteen, was scrubbing at the floor with red-stained cloth. Her hands trembled with each stroke.

Peach knelt beside her.

"Who bled here?"

The girl froze. Her eyes darted around before she whispered, "It was the cook, my lady."

"The cook?"

The girl nodded. "He... he was found in the lower cellar. Mouth blackened. Eyes... wrong."

Peach's blood chilled. "Poison?"

"They said it was a fever. But we all know better."

Before Peach could ask more, a rough voice barked from the stairwell. "Get away from her!"

A tall, sharp-faced servant stomped down the stairs and shoved the girl behind him.

Peach rose. "I asked her a question."

"You're not the master here," the man snapped.

Peach stepped forward, slowly. "No. I'm his wife."

The man paled. Then bowed stiffly. "Apologies, Lady Reigns. I only meant-"

"What you meant," she said coldly, "was to silence her."

He didn't respond.

"I want a list," she continued. "Of every person who's fallen ill in the last week. Servants, guards, even animals. Anyone."

"I'll have it prepared-"

"Now."

The man fled. Peach turned back to the girl, but she was gone, too.

Damn it.

She looked down at the stain on the floor.

It wasn't just blood. There were streaks of something darker, thicker-veined like oil. It smelled like iron and rot.

It wasn't human.

---

That evening, Peach stormed into Demetrius's study.

He stood at the hearth, facing the fire, hands clasped behind his back. Alric hovered nearby, half in shadow.

"You should have told me," she said without preamble.

"Told you what?"

"That people are dying."

Demetrius didn't turn. "They are always dying."

"Not like this. This is no fever, Demetrius. Something is poisoning them."

He was quiet for a moment, then turned to face her. "I know."

Peach blinked. "You knew?"

"I've known for three days. I was trying to contain it before panic spread."

"And what is it, exactly?"

Alric answered. "The poison is old, my lady. Older than the keep. It seeps through cracks in the warding spells beneath the foundations."

"The spells are failing?"

"No," Demetrius said. "They're being broken."

Peach's stomach dropped. "By who?"

"We don't know," Demetrius said. "But whoever it is, they're inside the keep."

---

Later that night, Peach sat in the library alone.

Demetrius had returned to the lower vaults to reinforce the old magics. Alric was gathering records from centuries past. And Peach... was reading.

She had pulled every book on curses, wards, and vampire bloodlines she could find. Most were useless-too old, too vague. But one journal caught her eye.

It was handwritten. Bound in cracked leather. And marked with a name:

Lady Seraphine Nightborne.

She flipped through the pages.

What she found made her chest tighten.

Peach read the line again.

And again.

It wasn't a curse. It was a trigger.

The keep responded to treachery. To lies. To weakness in the bloodline.

Someone-within-was causing the decay.

Someone close to Demetrius.

Or close to her.

---

She stood at her balcony before bed, the journal pressed to her chest, her breath frosting in the cold air.

The red mist in the valley was thicker than ever. Swirling. Alive.

And far below, in the forest near the outer wall, something moved.

A figure in a dark cloak, dragging a bundle of cloth-or a body-through the snow.

Peach leaned forward.

The figure paused.

Then slowly-very slowly-lifted its head.

She couldn't see its face. But she felt it watching her.

And then it vanished into the trees.