Page 19 of The Crown's Shadow

Domitius pushed a vial forward, and a heaviness filled her chest. A clear liquid filled the small container enclosed with a cork. Even without a label, Kallie knew what was inside, for Domitius had presented Kallie with similar vials before. When tricking the mind was not good enough, other precautions had to be taken.

She stripped away any emotion from her countenance.

“Who is it this time?” she asked as she inspected her nails, freshly sharpened and painted. In the reflection of the low fire, flames danced within the pale pink coat of paint.

King Domitius shrugged. “A servant in the castle.”

“A servant?”

She had expected someone of stature, someone with a title. Someone who was making too much noise. Not a staff member. Her father had never deemed the staff worthy of his attention before. Firing them had always been his preferred form of punishment, cutting off their supply of income and making them unemployable. She detested it, but she had no say in the matter.

“You question me?”

“No, My King, of course not.” Kallie tipped her head in repentance. With a gentle tone, she said, “I only wonder what the servant could have done.”

He rolled the small glass vial between his thumb and forefinger. “You always did have a soft spot for the staff.” After a moment, he placed the vial back on the table between them and leaned back in his chair. “There have been rumblings.”

“Rumblings?” Kallie asked.

“Yes, an investigation of sorts.” He flicked his hand in the air. “Apparently, some Frenzians, Tessa specifically, do not believe Lothian died of natural causes.”

Kallie folded her hands on her lap beneath the table, twisting the ring.

Was this why Tessa was suspicious of Kallie’s intentions? Thankfully, Kallie’s gift had strengthened, so she wasn’t concerned about Tessa recalling their previous conversation. Still, from now on, Kallie would have to be careful and ensure there were no traces left behind, no cracks in her manipulations.

Domitius scooted closer to the table and leaned across it. A stray blond curl fell from his slick-backed hair. His palm pressed flat on the oak tabletop. “We cannot have people questioning Lothian’s death right now, Kalisandre.”

Kallie’s head pounded harder as his brown eyes bore into her. Heat soaked her skin, and the fresh air from the opened window was thick with humidity.

Still, she asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“Make them believe.” He pulled out a folded piece of parchment and slid it across the table.

Unfolding it, she scanned the page, her eyes bouncing across the wrinkled parchment as she flipped it over and over. “It’s empty,” she said, looking up at him.

“Get a servant to confess.”

“But—”

“Have the servant write the confession down. Then . . .” Domitius pushed the vial forward. He didn’t bother saying the next step of his plan. He didn’t need to.

King Domitius wanted this servant to take the fall for King Lothian’s death. To take the blame for it so that any suspicions leading to Ardentol were dealt with before they latched onto anything concrete. Anything that would put the blame on them.

Kallie glanced at the vial, and her heart thumped in her throat as she reached for the poison. From a young age, Kallie had been trained to seduce, disarm, and kill. Yet she had never driven a blade through her targets’ hearts. Poison was always Domitius’ preferred method. Easy to conceal, unsuspecting, and silent. Kallie had never stayed around to see the aftermath of the poison. But when news of the victim’s death reached the castle’s doorsteps, guilt always stained her hands. Sickness claimed her every time.

Yet, as her father sat across from her in the foreign castle, the power still in his hands, she did not flinch. She did not react. Instead, with a straight face, Kallie asked the question he expected, “Who’s the lucky winner?”

She would not disappoint him today.

Domitius leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on its arms and folding his hands beneath his chin. He smirked, and Kallie’s skin itched. “Player’s choice.”

Her hand froze, hovering over the vial. “My choice?”

“Don’t you think you’ve earned it?” Domitius asked, tilting his head slightly.

Kallie swallowed, but her mouth was dry.

“Yet you hesitate, Kalisandre.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in dismay. “I thought you would be overjoyed to have this responsibility, to have my trust. To have the choice of who gets to take the blame.”

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