Laughter echoed through the grand banquet hall of Betania, but to Alistair, it sounded like a chorus of vultures waiting for a corpse.
Golden chandeliers hung high above, dripping hot wax onto the polished marble below.
Beneath his heavy ceremonial robes, Alistair slid his thumb over the small wooden prayer beads concealed in his palm.
Quietly, he recited a verse of protection in his mind, his heart seeking refuge in the only peace he had left.
Faith was his anchor in this nest of vipers, a silent sanctuary that kept him grounded while his body slowly decayed from the magic he carried.
---
Across the crowded hall, Bianka stood motionless near the arched stone pillars.
Her white silk gown caught the flickering candlelight, making her look like a spirit lost in a den of monsters.
Cold determination hardened her delicate features, her fingers gripping a silver goblet so tightly her knuckles had turned stark white.
She did not look at the dancers or the musicians playing their upbeat melodies.
Her gaze was locked entirely on him, burning with an intense, unyielding hatred that cut deeper than any blade.
---
Beside Alistair sat Lady Helen, his wife by political decree.
Helen paid him no attention, her focus entirely consumed by her own reflection in her polished silver knife.
Their marriage was a hollow arrangement, a transaction designed to pacify warring factions rather than foster love.
She knew his heart belonged to another, just as she knew he would never touch her.
They lived as strangers under the same roof, sharing nothing but a crown and a silent agreement of mutual indifference.
---
Memories of a different life flashed behind Alistair's eyes, sharp and agonizing.
He remembered the warm, dry breeze of the Mount of Olives, far away from the damp stone of Betania.
They had met during a summer exchange program years ago, when the world still felt vast and full of hope.
Cafe BYU had been their sanctuary, a quiet spot overlooking the ancient stone walls of Jerusalem.
Bianka had been a student at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, pursuing her degree in social sciences with a passion that took his breath away.
Hours would vanish as they sat at a corner table, discussing history, society, and the complicated truths of their worlds.
He, a devout Muslim noble, and she, a passionate Christian woman, had found a rare harmony in their differences.
They had spoken of their faiths with mutual respect, finding common ground in their devotion to a higher power.
But their bubble was violently popped when her parents discovered the connection.
Outraged by his faith and his political standing, her family had forbidden the match, forcing her back to Betania and cementing a bitter divide.
---
Then came the rebellion, the burning of her family's estate, and the brutal executions.
She believed he was the monster who had ordered the slaughter.
In truth, she had no knowledge of the secret blood oath Alistair had sworn to her dying father in the ashes of their home.
"Protect her from the real conspirators," her father had begged, gasping his final breath. "Let her hate you if she must, but keep her alive."
To fulfill that oath, Alistair had bound his soul to the forbidden Blood Aegis magic.
This ancient, dark magic linked their physical bodies; any lethal blow, disease, or poison directed at Bianka would instead manifest in Alistair’s flesh.
Even worse, if she tried to assassinate him herself, he had to willingly absorb the damage, or the magical recoil of her treasonous intent would tear her own soul apart.
Every attempt she made on his life only pushed him closer to his grave, yet he accepted each blow with silent gratitude.
Her hatred was a shield that kept her safe from the monsters who truly wanted her dead.
---
Slowly, Bianka began her march across the banquet hall.
Whispers followed her like a trail of smoke, the court murmuring behind jeweled fans and heavy goblets.
Everyone knew of her hatred; everyone expected a show.
Alistair watched her approach, his heart heavy with a mixture of profound sorrow and a dark, twisted relief.
She was here, within his reach, even if she only came to deliver his demise.
Stopping at the foot of his dais, Bianka bowed her head in a mockery of respect.
Her voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed a trembling storm.
"My Lord Alistair," she said, her tone smooth yet sharp as glass.
"To celebrate the Autumn Solstice, I bring you a rare vintage from the northern valleys."
"A wine worthy of a ruler who has taken so much from this land."
---
Alistair looked down at the silver cup she held out.
Odors of sweet almonds and metallic copper drifted from the dark liquid inside.
Nightshade Nightfall.
It was a devastating, forbidden poison that dissolved a man's internal organs within minutes.
He knew she had obtained it from his enemies, the conspirators of the Obsidian Guild who wished to use her grief to destroy him.
Marcus, his loyal master-at-arms, took a sudden step forward from the shadows of the throne.
His hand hovered dangerously close to his sword hilt, his eyes locked on the poisoned chalice.
Alistair raised a single, commanding finger, silently ordering his guard to stand down.
He would not let anyone interfere.
This was her offering, and he would accept it.
---
Taking the heavy goblet from her hand, his fingers briefly touched hers.
Coldness radiated from her skin, a physical manifestation of the wall she had built between them.
An acute pang of grief struck his chest, far more painful than any poison could ever be.
"You are too kind, Lady Bianka," Alistair said, his voice deep and entirely calm.
"A gift from your hands is something I could never refuse."
Bianka’s lips thinned into a hard, unforgiving line.
"Drink then, My Lord," she whispered, her eyes wide with desperate anticipation.
"May it bring you the peace you deserve," she added coldly.
Alistair closed his eyes for a brief second.
*Bismillah,* he prayed silently, committing his soul to his Creator as he prepared for the onslaught.
Then, he lifted the goblet and drank.
He did not hesitate, nor did he savor it.
Gulping the toxic liquid down, he felt the thick, sweet poison coat his throat and slide into his chest.
---
Fire exploded in his core almost instantly.
It felt as though a thousand red-hot needles were tearing through his stomach, shredding his veins from the inside out.
Blood Aegis magic flared to life within him, a dark, suffocating weight that forced the poison to bind directly to his own life force, shielding Bianka from the spiritual recoil.
Agony racked his entire body, making his muscles seize and his vision blur into a dark haze.
He gripped the armrest of his throne, his knuckles turning grey under the immense pressure of holding himself upright.
Inside his mind, a primal scream echoed, but outwardly, he remained still.
He refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Showing any sign of weakness would destroy the fragile peace he spent half his life building.
Slowly, he forced his breathing to steady, swallowing the metallic taste of his own blood that threatened to spill past his teeth.
---
Setting the empty goblet on the table, he looked back at Bianka.
He offered her a polite, chillingly calm smile, his eyes steady despite the absolute torment ravaging his body.
"An extraordinary vintage," Alistair remarked, his voice miraculously smooth.
"You have exquisite taste, Lady Bianka."
Bianka stumbled back a step, her face draining of color.
Confusion and horror flickered in her eyes as she stared at him, unable to comprehend how he was still breathing.
She had been assured by her contacts that the poison was absolute, that no man could survive a single drop.
Yet, here he sat, smiling at her as if she had served him water.
Pain continued to claw at his throat, a burning tide that he could barely keep contained.
He knew he had to leave the hall before his body betrayed him.
Standing up slowly, he gave a polite nod to his guests, his movements rigid but dignified.
As Alistair turned away, a single drop of black blood escapes his lip, landing on Bianka's white silk slipper, just as his master-at-arms whispers that the Obsidian Guild has breached the outer gardens.