A high-velocity carbine. Casmir had seconds, maybe less. The platinum bands of the Succession Relic gleamed, a cold, hard promise of leverage. But the laser dot burned between Casmir’s shoulder blades like a brand. Olesia didn't think. The decision ripped through her, violent and undeniable. The ornate writing desk, heavy with carved griffin heads and stacked with brittle scrolls, crashed to the floor with a deafening clang. She didn't wait for the guards’ startled flinch. Her hand ripped at the skirt of her gown, tearing the heavy crimson silk from its fastenings. The fabric, meters of it, whipped through the air like a bloody banner, settling over the carbine-wielding guard's head, blinding him in a scarlet shroud. “Now!” she shrieked, a raw, uncharacteristic sound. Casmir didn't hesitate. He launched himself sideways, sweeping Olesia with him, a blur of dark motion towards the massive stained-glass window depicting the Galt Dynasty’s crest. The lead guard, still grappling with the crimson silk, barked a frustrated order. Two more guards opened fire, but they were too late. Glass exploded inward, showering them in glittering shards as they tumbled through the jagged opening. The drop was short, mercifully. They landed hard on a rusted metal grating, the impact jarring the air from Olesia’s lungs. A sharp, chemical tang, like burnt almonds and old copper, immediately assailed her. Below them, a labyrinth of tarnished conduits and pipes snaked into impenetrable darkness. This was the Sunken Palace’s underbelly, the maintenance shafts rumored to carry the lethal gas used in the most ‘discreet’ Morvane eliminations. Casmir groaned, a low, pained sound. He was already pushing himself up, his movements stiff. “Get clear of the drop zone,” he ordered, his voice tight. “They’ll be looking down.” Before Olesia could move, a splintering crack echoed from above. A pipe, weakened by age or impact, ruptured near them with a sharp hiss. A plume of pale green vapor coiled from the breach, thick and suffocating. Olesia gagged, her throat constricting. The almond scent intensified, sickening her to the core. “Gas,” she rasped, pulling at the high collar of her gown, trying to cover her mouth and nose. Casmir swore, a guttural sound. “Follow me. Keep low.” He moved with surprising speed despite the impact, navigating the narrow walkways between buzzing power lines and steaming conduits. The air grew heavier, the green mist clinging to the metallic surfaces, a silent, creeping predator. Olesia coughed, her eyes watering, the edges of her vision blurring. A deafening *crack* reverberated through the shafts. A bullet shrieked past Olesia’s ear, ricocheting off a nearby pipe with a metallic screech. Casmir grunted, stumbling. He didn’t fall, but his left arm swung uselessly for a moment before he pressed it to his side. “Just a graze,” he bit out, his face pale in the dim light filtering through the grated floor above. “Keep moving.” They pressed deeper into the noxious labyrinth, the gas growing denser in certain pockets, forcing them to hold their breath in agonizing intervals. Finally, Casmir pulled her into a small, recessed alcove, barely large enough for them both, hidden behind a cluster of massive pressure valves. The air here was marginally clearer, though the almond tang still lingered. “Let me see,” Olesia demanded, her voice trembling. Her hands, usually so precise, shook as she reached for his arm. He winced as she gently pulled away his coat, revealing a dark, blossoming stain on his pristine white shirt. The bullet had torn through the flesh of his upper arm, a messy, bleeding furrow. “It’s not deep,” Casmir insisted, his teeth ground tight, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “I’ve had worse.” “Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped, her own fear manifesting as sharp anger. She tore a strip from the hem of her ruined gown, the silk surprisingly absorbent. Her fingers, nimble even in the dark, moved swiftly, pressing the makeshift bandage against the wound. The warmth of his blood seeped into the fabric, hot and slick against her skin. She could feel the tautness of his muscle, the thrum of his pulse beneath her touch. The proximity was suffocating, exhilarating. “Olesia,” Casmir began, his voice rough, thick with something she couldn’t quite decipher. He leaned his head back against the cold metal, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “I… I’ve watched you. For years. Before… before your father’s passing. I knew about the three crushed mint leaves. I knew you always started your plans with a clean, empty room. I saw the way you held yourself after everything, like a broken doll trying to mend its own porcelain.” Her movements froze. The makeshift bandage slipped, and she had to clench her hand to stop it from falling. The air in the cramped space thickened, charged with a raw, brutal honesty that made her want to recoil. She had built walls around herself, higher and colder than any Morvane vault. Yet, he saw through them. “What does that mean?” she managed, her voice barely a breath. His gaze, intense and unwavering even in the gloom, locked onto hers. “I’m tired of playing. I'm obsessed. I'll burn every last gilded manor, every bloodline pact, every piece of this rotten aristocracy to ashes if it means keeping you safe from them. From Tevin. From this trap. From yourself, if I have to.” His good hand reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over the faint bruising Tevin’s guards had left earlier. The touch was possessive, terrifyingly real. Olesia stared at him, her own carefully constructed world tilting on its axis. The cold, hard shell she had cultivated for years began to crack, a treacherous warmth seeping into her chest. She saw not the reckless playboy, but a man capable of a devastating, consuming fire. Before she could form a response, a low, hydraulic hiss echoed through the metal shafts, growing louder, closer. A heavy clang vibrated through the floor. The blast doors at the end of the conduit, their only clear exit, began to split open, slowly, deliberately. A sliver of light appeared, then widened, revealing a looming figure silhouetted against the distant glow of the main hall. Tevin. And behind him, the glint of heavily armed men. They had found them. They had been waiting.

Poison and Promises