By morning, the palace was a nest of rumors and veiled accusations.
The noble's death had been officially ruled an act of rebellion. The Queen declared it a lone act—a crazed servant who fled justice. But Rose knew better. Darius hadn't killed for chaos.
He'd killed for her.
And the court had heard the message loud and clear.
In her chambers, Rose paced before the hearth, rereading the newest scroll Kyle had intercepted—a coded message, signed with the broken crown.
> "The Queen sharpens her knives. Do not drink the wine."
The warning was clear. And timely.
The Queen had invited her to a private luncheon. No advisors. No guards.
Just the two of them.
"She's going to try to poison you," Kyle said flatly, seated near the window, sword across his lap.
"She'll try something," Rose agreed, folding the scroll. "But not poison. Too crude. Too risky."
Kyle raised a brow. "You're still going?"
Rose gave a slow smile. "Of course. If the Queen wants a performance, I'll give her a show."
---
The Queen's garden was deceptive in its serenity. Blossoms spilled in fragrant waves, bees hummed lazily over silver-petaled roses, and birds chirped like nothing was burning beneath the soil. The Queen sat at a round table draped in ivory lace, her hands folded over a glass of wine she hadn't touched.
"Princess," she said with false warmth. "You grace me with your punctuality."
"I learned from the best," Rose replied with a soft curtsy, taking the seat opposite her.
The food was exquisite. Fruit glazed with honey. Steamed petals wrapped in crystal leaves. But Rose didn't touch a thing.
Not yet.
"You seem tired," the Queen observed, studying her like a hawk.
"Long nights," Rose replied. "Court intrigues. Assassins. You understand."
The Queen gave a soft laugh. "Oh, I remember those days well. The thrill of outwitting one's enemies. But one must be careful not to become paranoid. That's the beginning of the end."
Rose tilted her head. "Is that how it began for your enemies?"
A flicker in the Queen's eyes.
"You remind me of someone," Mariam said at last. "There was a girl once—fierce, brilliant. Thought she could take the world with fire and steel. She died screaming."
"Did she?" Rose asked, a quiet edge in her tone. "Perhaps she simply learned to whisper instead."
The Queen's expression stilled. The silence between them stretched thin and sharp.
Then Mariam leaned back, tapping her wine glass gently.
"I know what you are," she said softly.
Rose didn't blink. "Do you?"
"I see it in your eyes. You carry the weight of another life. The ghosts cling to your voice." Her lips curved. "But I've killed ghosts before."
Rose picked up her glass at last—but didn't drink. She simply raised it in toast.
"Then you know," she whispered, "how hard they are to bury."
She set the glass down untouched.
And stood.
"Thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty. The flowers are lovely. The venom, less so."
The Queen's hand stilled over her napkin. A flicker—so small only someone watching very closely would have caught it.
"You've made a bold move today, child."
"I've only just started."
As Rose turned and walked away, a breeze stirred the garden. The birds quieted. Somewhere, far below, the palace shifted.
In the shadows beyond the archway, Darius watched with a faint smile.
And in the Queen's hand, her glass trembled—just slightly.
Because she had touched the wrong stem.
And now, she wasn't sure if it was safe to drink.