Eyes shining, Gretchen walked forward and embraced him. “You said enough just then.”
He was about to propose a fitting, but footsteps thudding down the passageway made him pause. Ghyslain popped into view, flushed and breathless, a daffy grin on his face. “Lady Clarysa is here.”
Stellan frowned. “What? But how could she…?”
“I let her in a few moments ago. She asked to see you.”
A jab of excitement punctured Stellan’s chest. He motioned for Ghyslain to lead the way. Gretchen followed, smoothing her hair. “I’ll make some refreshments!”
Stellan hurried to the front hall. The wedding was only three days away. He hoped nothing was wrong. His stomach jumped with anticipation. It had been a long few weeks since they’d seen each other.
Clarysa was waiting for him in the throne room. She appeared resplendent in a white cloak lined with fur. A flowing pink dress peeked out from underneath. Her smiling face shone brighter than the sun. Stellan swept her up in his arms.
“Why didn’t you send word? I would have met you halfway at least!”
Instead of waiting for her answer, he feasted upon her lips for a few dizzying moments. Odd. Something felt different, something…ineffable. Drawing back, he studied her. “Have you changed your hair?”
Clarysa giggled. “No, nothing like that. I’m just so happy to see you!”
“Me, too.” He embraced her once more, pressing himself hard against her with an almost bestial urgency. Gods of fortune, how much longer until the wedding night?
“Gretchen’s preparing something to eat. Let’s wait in the study so you can warm up.”
Clarysa nodded. She adjusted the strap of the leather satchel hanging from one shoulder as they walked.
“Here, let me.” Stellan reached out a hand and she passed it to him.
Once in the study, he deposited it on a chair, then turned to help her remove her cloak. As he hung it up, Clarysa opened the satchel.
“What’s in it?” he asked.
“Something to help us celebrate!”
She revealed its contents–a jug of wine. “My father sends it with his blessing and congratulations. It’s one of the most valuable vintages in the entire kingdom.”
Stellan dutifully studied the container and then turned to his betrothed. He languidly stroked her cheek. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought he’d waste it on a ‘damnable warlock’ such as myself. Maybe it’s his way of accepting me.” Slipping his hands around her waist, he avidly kissed her cheeks and neck. He wondered at the change in her. There was definitely something unusual. She must have sprinkled her skin with a new fragrance. Or maybe it was the glow experienced only by brides-to-be. “You didn’t ride all the way here simply to give me this, did you?”
Clarysa wriggled from his grasp. “Let’s have a toast!”
“All right,” he said, though the scent of her had already made him drunk.
He rummaged about for a pair of goblets. They stood across from each other, the wine resting on a high-legged table between them. Clarysa made a great hoopla about opening the bottle, waxing poetic about its symbolism and such. Stellan listened attentively, basking in her presence with delight.
Clarysa poured the wine. The dark red liquid gurgled into the wide-rimmed glasses, giving off a dense, fruity smell.
She handed one goblet to Stellan, and daintily picked up the other. “To us,” she said simply.
He grinned. “To us!” Though the rich wine beckoned, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Nor, apparently, could she, for her gaze studied him eagerly over the rim as she drank.
The wine tasted delectable and sweet. Still unaccustomed to such rich libation, Stellan inadvertently drained the glass in one swallow.
Wiping his lips, he reached for the bottle. “Excellent,” he murmured. “It’s certainly superior to any I’ve had before.” As he lifted the next round to his mouth, his hand suddenly lost its strength. The room swirled as the floor rippled in waves. The goblet left his grip, exploding into hundreds of crimson fragments on the stone floor below. Stellan looked down in confusion. What’s happening?
He shifted his gaze toward Clarysa. A hard glint flashed from her eye. She retreated to one corner of the room. “What…is this?” he croaked.
She didn’t answer.
Vision blurring, he reached for the table to steady himself. But he missed and went crashing down on his knees. Blood coursed through his veins like a tidal wave. A roaring sound pummeled his eardrums while strange pinching sensations and cramps tore through his abdomen.
Something was in the wine. Poison? “Clarysa?” he ground out. “What have you done to me? Why have you…”
Stellan blinked hard and rapidly. It was difficult to concentrate. He only saw a blur of pink standing some feet away. Then a prickly sensation rippled beneath his skin from head to foot. The cramps in his roiling stomach intensified. His blood felt as if it were on fire. Perspiration ran in torrents from his body.
Nearly prostrate, he grunted at the sensation of his stomach being turned inside out. His clothes constricted, biting into his skin as if they were five or six times too small. But it was nothing compared to the pain of Clarysa’s betrayal. Her actions didn’t make any sense.
The pain became a thousand knives slicing away at his chest. Was he dying? His thoughts suddenly scattered. World enfolding upon itself…gravity overbearing…torn apart… Then, all light faded as a deluge of shadows overcame him.
Minutes–or perhaps hours–later, Stellan regained consciousness.
He looked up, his vision a watery sea of shifting shapes. For a terrifying moment he couldn’t even breathe. When air once again filled his lungs, it felt as though he had to learn how to breathe all over again. He tried to stand but immediately fell forward with a sickening thud. Strangely, he had the strength, but somehow lacked the knowledge to use it.
Derisive laughter rang out in the room, unmistakably female. Stellan lay there, eyes shut against residual aches. Slowly, fire again began to flow in his veins. He mercilessly beat his head against the floor, a feeble attempt
