Chapter 3 Poison

In a shadowed chamber of the palace, away from the eyes of the grieving public, Queen Liana stood before a large oak desk, her expression a mask of careful calculation. The room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of oil lamps, their flames casting long, wavering shadows across the walls lined with dark tapestries.

At the far end of the desk stood a figure cloaked in black, the hood pulled low to obscure his face. Liana's eyes were cold and unreadable as she watched her younger brother, Dorian Blackthorn, emerged from the shadows.

Dorian removed his hood, revealing a face marked by sharp features and piercing eyes. He surveyed the room with a practiced indifference before focusing on his sister.

"How long until the poison takes full effect?" Liana's voice was a low whisper, her eyes locked on her brother's.

Dorian's gaze was steady as he approached the desk, his movements smooth and deliberate. "A few months," he replied, his tone as cold as the steel of a dagger. He placed a small vial on the desk, its contents a deep, menacing shade. "The poison was designed to act slowly, ensuring the symptoms are masked by other ailments. It was the only way to be certain that suspicion would never fall upon us."

Liana's lips curled into a thin smile, her eyes reflecting a dangerous gleam. "And once Edric is out of the way?"

Dorian's lips quirked into a sly grin. "With a Blackthorn on the throne, our family will not just reign supreme—we will solidify our power beyond challenge. The kingdom will be ours to shape as we see fit."

Dorian's gaze was unwavering. "Aldric is a fool but he is the crown prince and his loyalties are uncertain, he will be easier to control."

Liana's eyes narrowed with a mix of determination and trepidation. "You're certain this will work?"

Dorian's voice was a low rumble, filled with assurance. "The poison was chosen for its subtlety, and the only one who knew of our plan was the physician, who, I assure you, will remain silent for his own safety."

Liana exhaled slowly, her posture relaxing slightly. "Then it is as we planned. We simply need to remain vigilant. The moment is at hand."

Dorian stepped closer, his expression serious. "Remember, Liana, with power comes the burden of maintaining it. Once Edric is gone, we must act quickly."

Liana's eyes were steely, her resolve hardening. "We will ensure that our path is clear. The throne will be ours."

As Dorian turned to leave, Liana watched him with a mixture of cold satisfaction and apprehension. The shadows of the room seemed to deepen as the reality of their machinations settled in. The death of King Edric was only the beginning; the true test of their ambition lay in the aftermath of his fall.

The quiet murmur of the palace beyond the chamber seemed a world away as Liana remained alone, her mind racing with the implications of their scheme. The throne, the power, the reign—everything was within their grasp. All that remained was to see their plan come to fruition and to secure the future they had so ruthlessly envisioned.

---

As Vallis awoke, a relentless headache pounded through his skull, amplifying every sound and movement around him. His loyal servant Ruby, her face etched with concern, knelt beside him. "My lord, you're awake," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Vallis tried to focus through the haze of agony. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and strained.

Ruby's eyes were filled with worry. "They found you in the underground tomb. Your dog led them to you. You've been unconscious for days."

The recollection of the tomb and the ancient book surged into Vallis's mind, intensifying his headache. The dark, abhorrent details of the book's covenant came flooding back. His heart raced with fear and disbelief. His vision blurred, and nausea overcame him. "No… this can't be…" Vallis muttered, clutching his stomach. He heaved violently, the effort of vomiting overwhelming him.

Ruby's hands were gentle as she patted his back. "My lord, are you alright? What's wrong?"

Gasping for breath, Vallis tried to steady himself. "The book… the ritual…" he stammered, his mind racing with the implications of the covenant. The methods described were vile, the practice almost too monstrous to contemplate. He struggled with the idea of performing such a ritual, but his resolve hardened. The world was cruel to the weak; perhaps this was his only way to gain the power necessary to survive.

The next morning, Vallis made his way to his private treasury, a place where he kept his personal wealth accumulated through years of invention and innovation. Most of his fortune had been invested in the family's coffers, but this gold was his own. He gathered a portion, his mind already calculating the steps needed for his plan.

With Ruby and his guard Troy in tow, Vallis navigated the bustling market. They moved through narrow, crowded lanes until they arrived at a grimy building adorned with crude, hand-painted signs. The air inside was thick with the stench of sweat and despair. Vallis approached the slave trader, a young man with an unkempt appearance and an air of exaggerated bravado.

"Ah, young lord!" the trader greeted, his voice dripping with false cheerfulness. "You've come to the right place. I have the finest specimens and exotic beauties!"

Vallis nodded, playing along. "Show me what you have."

The trader's grin widened as he led Vallis through a series of grimy cells and holding pens. "Here we have the most exotic beauties from distant lands," he said, gesturing to a group of women, their eyes hollow and vacant. "And over here, some very fine specimens for more… practical purposes."

Vallis's eyes scanned the assortment before him. He was not interested in the women or the exotic animals. His gaze settled on a group of five mature men, their faces lined with weariness and their eyes hollow with despair. They spoke in a foreign tongue, their hopes of escape extinguished. Vallis approached them, carefully concealing his intent.

"These men," Vallis said to the trader, "they look capable. I want them."

The trader's eyes sparkled with opportunistic glee. "Excellent choice! These men are strong and resilient. They'll serve you well. They were once warriors from a barbaric land. They'll fetch a good price."

Vallis nodded curtly. "How much?"

After a brief negotiation, Vallis paid the required sum and arranged for the men to be transported to his estate. Ruby and Troy escorted them back, and Vallis observed with a detached interest. As they arrived at the Alistair estate, the staff buzzed with rumors about the new arrivals. Rhys, speculated aloud."Here i thought he would buy beauties like i first did, wait is he.....well he's always been a bit weird."

For the next few months, Vallis ensured the slaves were well-fed and cared for, their health improving under his seemingly benevolent watch. The men, grateful for the reprieve from their previous suffering, began to see Vallis as their savior. Their gratitude was evident in their daily interactions, their faces lighting up with hope whenever Vallis passed by.

But Vallis's true intentions were far from noble. In the solitude of his study, he prepared for the ritual described in the ancient book. He summoned the slaves for a final meal, subtly laced with a potent sleeping draught. As they ate, Vallis watched with a cold gaze.

Once the slaves had succumbed to the drug-induced sleep, Vallis called Troy to escort them to the underground prison cells. Troy, ever the loyal guard, wondered what strange and unsettling practices his lord might be indulging in. "What's going on, my lord?" he told himself, "Noble lords often have peculiar tastes, but this is something else."

Vallis offered no explanation, his mind focused on the task ahead. In the dim, candlelit chamber beneath the estate, Vallis prepared for the ritual. The air was thick with the scent of blood and incense as he drew blood from a veil, mixing it with other ingredients. The symbols and ritualistic signs he etched onto the cold stone floor seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy.

With grim determination, Vallis severed the heads of the slaves one by one, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The heads were arranged in a large, precise circle, their expressions frozen in a final, grotesque mask of terror. The sight was horrifying—blood pooled around the severed heads, staining the stone floor and mingling with the remnants of the dark ritual ingredients.

Vallis began to chant in an ancient, guttural language, his voice resonating with an eerie authority. The heads twitched and jerked as if trying to escape their macabre fate. The blood and brain matter of the decapitated slaves splattered and merged into a single, grotesque marble. The marble pulsated with an unnatural light, the combined horror and despair of the slaves condensed into a nightmarish artifact.

Vallis hesitated only briefly before consuming the marble. The viscous substance slid down his throat, and he was immediately gripped by a profound unease. His conscience screamed in protest, the taste of the marble mingling with the faint, lingering sensation of blood and fear. But he forced himself to ignore it, focusing instead on the strange and exhilarating surge of power that began to course through him.

The power was intoxicating, a heady promise of the dark gifts the book had foretold. Vallis closed his eyes, feeling the newfound strength and abilities expanding within him. It was a rush of mental energy, an exhilarating yet horrifying sensation.

The world was cruel, and Vallis had chosen to embrace its darkness, no matter the cost. The price of his newfound power was steep, but he was willing to pay it, driven by the relentless hunger for control and survival in a world that had shown him only cruelty.