Page 117 of Midnight Conquest

Raising the candle ahead of her, she pushed the door open slowly. The room yawned before her with dark shadows fluttering under the quivering candlelight, packed with barrels of apples, shelves of dried goods, and sacks of flour. Her narrowed gaze swept the crowded space, and her stomach sank when she noticed an empty spot on the shelf.

The honey.

Switching the candle to her other hand, Rosselyn spotted errant strands of blond hair peeking out from behind an apple barrel. Her lips curled into a snarl.

Snatching a fistful of Veronique’s hair, she yanked her upright.

Veronique screamed, the pottery jar in her hands crashing to the floor, honey spilling everywhere, the sticky sweetness pooling at their feet like golden blood.

“You little snake!” Rosselyn growled, wrestling the girl as sheflailed and cursed in French.

The candle toppled from the shelf in the scuffle, landing on a pile of burlap sacks. The fabric ignited instantly, flames licking hungrily at Veronique’s skirt.

Rosselyn gasped, heat blasting her face—then a deluge of ice-cold water drenched her from head to toe. She sputtered, blinking through the water streaming down her lashes, while Veronique shrieked as the flames hissed and died.

Nicabar set the empty bucket aside with a grunt and grabbed Veronique, hauling her out of the pantry past Rosselyn with a rough yank.

The household flooded into the kitchen, lanterns bobbing like restless fireflies as people shouted over one another. Nicabar restrained Veronique, who twisted and struggled like a wildcat, her soaked hair plastered to her face as she spat curses in rapid French.

Rosselyn ignored the chaos, her focus narrowing to the broken pottery on the floor. Amidst the sticky pool of spilled honey gleamed a small vial. Her heart plunged. She snatched it up, uncorked it, and took a cautious sniff.

Her stomach flipped, bile rising in her throat. “That little bitch.”

Dipping her finger into the tainted honey, she tasted it, grimacing at the bitter tang of poison beneath the sweetness, which she spit to the floor. A chill crawled down her spine.

Rising slowly, she clutched the vial, her knuckles white as she turned toward the others. Davina had arrived, pale with confusion, her wide eyes darting between the faces in the crowded kitchen.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Davina demanded.

Rosselyn’s lip curled as she jabbed a finger toward Veronique. “Nicabar and I caught her sneaking into the castle,” she announced, her voice trembling with fury. “We found her in the pantry.” She raised the nearly empty vial high, the lantern light catching the glass like a damning beacon. “She was trying to poison the honey supply…withautumn crocus.”

Gasps erupted around the kitchen. Faces paled as the staff exchanged horrified glances. Beatrice, the kitchen maid, clutched her shawl tighter around her trembling frame. “Doesn’t Lady Lilias use that in her tea?”

“Aye, child,” Lilias replied, her tone steady but grim, her gaze fixed on the vial. “But only in small doses. Too much of it can kill.”

Rosselyn’s throat tightened. She forced the words out, her eyes locking onto Davina’s, her chest squeezing with dread. “The amount of elixir she put in the honey, and with how much Davina eats of it…” Her voice faltered. “You could’ve gotten sick—or worse. There was enough to kill you.”

All eyes turned to Veronique, who was still struggling against Nicabar’s grip. Her eyes blazed with defiance, wild and unrepentant as she squirmed in his hold.

“You little devil,” someone muttered from the crowd, scornful, echoing the sentiment simmering in the room.

Two castle guards stepped forward, their faces set like carved stone. “We’ll take her into custody,” Gavin declared, his tone grim as he reached for Veronique.

But Nicabar tightened his hold, his jaw set hard as granite. “No, señor,” he said, unyielding. “She is one of our tribe. We will handle her punishment.”

Gavin’s expression soured, shadows deepening across his brow. “She’s no longer your problem. She’s committed a crime against this household.”

Before the argument could fester into something more volatile, Veronique twisted like a serpent in Nicabar’s grasp and bit down hard on his hand. He cursed and released her for a heartbeat—but that was all the time she needed.

With a snarl, she lunged for Beatrice’s lantern.

“Watch out!” Rosselyn shouted, her voice slicing through the clamor just as Veronique smashed the lamp against the table.

Flames burst forth in a furious roar, dancing greedily across the wooden surface and spilling onto the floor like liquid fire. Chaos ignited in the room as screams fractured the air, bodies scattering in a frantic scramble, some catching fire in their desperate attempt to flee the blaze.

Nicabar reacted in an instant, snatching a heavy wool blanket from its peg by the door and flinging it over the advancing flames near Rosselyn. Beatrice charged in, hauling a bucket of sand from the hearth and flinging its contents onto the inferno. The fire hissed in protest, crackling as the sand smothered its hunger. Davina, quick and unthinking, cast her blanket from her shoulders over Cook, beating down the flames that licked at the woman’s skirts. Acrid smoke curled thick in the air, stinging Rosselyn’s throat and eyes, filling her nose with the scorched stench of ruin.

By the time the fire was beaten back, the kitchen lay in ruin. The once-sturdy table was blackened, the stone floors streaked with soot, and the air reeked bitter with smoke. Lanterns flickered weakly in the haze as the remaining staff checked on one another, some cradling reddened hands or singed arms.

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