Chapter 3 #2
Raul was in the yard, astride his bay stallion, a figure carved of confidence and charm. As I approached, his dark eyes caught mine, and a wicked grin curled across his lips.
“Well, well,” he drawled, patting his horse’s sleek neck. “What are you doing here? Come to play, Alina?”
“Please, Raul,” I gasped, my voice ragged but urgent. “I need your help.”
His smile deepened, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
He cocked his head, letting the silence hang—just long enough for my nerves to spark.
Then, smoothly, “Oh, anything… for my darling girl.”
“I need an elixir,” I said breathlessly. “Something to make my parents sick—just enough to keep them from going to the masquerade. It’s the only way I’ll be able to go.”
A shadow passed over Raul’s face. He scowled, his amusement vanishing.
“I don’t have that kind of potion.”
“But you do,” I pressed, stepping closer. “I’ve seen you brew love potions. You’ve used them to bend girls to your will.”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Has it worked on you?”
I stamped my foot, frustration bubbling up. “Raul, this isn’t a game! I need your help. They’ll never let me out of that house unless something stops them. You’re the only one who can help me.”
He tilted his head, eyes dancing with wicked delight. “So, you are coming to the masquerade.”
My heart pounded. “Yes. But only if you help me.”
Raul rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Maybe I can find something... but you know everything comes at a price.”
I clasped my hands beneath my chin, voice softening. “What do you want?”
He didn’t blink. “A night with you. And Tomaso.”
I stared at him, the air sucked from my lungs. “You want a threesome—with me and Tomaso?”
Raul nodded. “It’s the only way I’ll give you the potion. Besides, we could have quite a bit of fun.”
“I don’t know…” I faltered, the pit in my stomach growing heavier.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Come on, Alina—just one night. You’ll get the freedom you want, the party, the thrill. And you know Tomaso won’t mind. I think he’s been hoping for it, too.”
I hesitated, torn between disgust, desire, and a deep need to be free, just for one night. One glorious, glittering night.
My lips parted with a sigh. “Alright. But after this, we’re done.”
Raul smirked, a glint of triumph flashing in his eyes. “Oh, I doubt that. You like me far too much to ever truly walk away.”
He dismounted with practiced ease, stepped forward, and lightly kissed my lips.
“Come,” he said, his voice like velvet over steel. “Let’s see what I can find for you.”
I followed him into the house, knowing I had just struck a bargain I could never undo.
I made my way back home, each step echoing the burdens I carried—secrets, poison, and a hunger for freedom. My heart pounded faster the closer I came to the estate as if it already knew the crime I was about to commit.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the windows. The carriage still sat outside, its horses idle and bored, so I knew my family hadn’t gone far. But not a single voice stirred the air. It felt as though the entire house had paused, holding its breath.
I crept inside, silent as a shadow, and went to the kitchen.
The duck lay prepared beside the hearth, ready to be roasted. The vegetables were freshly washed, waiting in their basket. Loaves of bread rested on a wooden board, still warm from the morning’s baking. And nearby, the wine flagon gleamed like a ruby waiting to be spilled.
Forgive me, I thought. But I didn’t hesitate.
I moved with grim efficiency—measured drops into the duck, a pour over the vegetables, a gentle soak into the bread’s soft core, and finally, the wine—a swirling ribbon of liquid death.
The scent of rosemary and garlic masked the faint bitterness. No one would suspect.
I wiped my hands clean, then slipped upstairs, unlocking my bedroom door and letting myself back in. I closed it quietly behind me, my heart thundering in my ears. If Raul had been right—if the poison worked swiftly—then Papa wouldn’t even think to check the lock.
He wouldn’t need to.
As dusk fell and the household gathered for dinner, I crept back toward the stairwell and crouched in the shadows. My pulse quickened. The moment was here.
From the dining room came the clink of silverware, the gentle murmur of conversation—
Then came the first gasp.
A groan followed it—a choking noise. A chair scraped against the floor.
Within moments, the room erupted.
Cries of pain tore through the air, followed by retching, moans, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor—a grotesque symphony of anguish. The once-harmonious sounds of family dinner now warped into something nightmarish.
I listened.
And reveled in it.
I had done this. I had made it happen. And I felt… powerful.
Quietly, I stole from the stairwell and hurried back to my room. Footsteps thudded behind me—desperate, clumsy. I threw myself onto the bed and pulled the covers high, twisting my face into a mask of distress. I writhed, moaned, and waited.
The door burst open.
Papa stood there, ghost-pale, sweat beading on his brow. His lips were parted as if to speak—but no words came.
His eyes took in the sight of me on the bed, and I watched him crumble a little more.
Let him think I suffer, too.
Let him think I was a victim, not the architect of his misery.
“So… you have it too?” Papa gasped as he dabbed his clammy forehead with a soaked handkerchief.
I let out a pitiful moan, dragging my fingers weakly across the blanket. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m as sick as a dog,” I croaked.
He leaned against the doorframe, swaying slightly, sweat glistening on his pallid face. “We’ve all got it,” he muttered. “Every single member of this house. Your mother’s the worst of all—I’ve ordered everyone to bed.”
A shiver racked his body. “Excuse me,” he said weakly, then turned and bolted, slamming the door behind him. I heard his staggering footsteps fade down the hall.
The moment the latch clicked, I let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
It had worked. Every part of it—perfectly.
Raul had said the poison would only last a day, maybe two. Just long enough.
The house fell into a tomb-like silence, interrupted only by the occasional grotesque chorus of retching. I endured it, and I welcomed it. It was the sound of my freedom being carved out in real-time.
Hours passed in sickening stillness until the light outside the window finally faded into dusky lavender. It was time.
I rose from bed like a phantom shedding its death shroud and moved through my room with the precision of a thief.
First, the silk knickers and chemise, soft as a whisper against my skin. Then the petticoat.
The corset followed—tight and unforgiving, it sculpted my waist into an hourglass, a silhouette of seduction and elegance. I laced it myself, breathing shallowly and keeping my pulse steady.
Then came the gown.
Pale silk, the color of moonlight. The sleeves were long and sheer, adorned with lace so intricate it looked like frost. It flowed over my body like water, ethereal and perfect.
Around my neck, I clasped the moonstone and ruby necklace Mama and Papa had given me on my sixteenth birthday. The stones caught the candlelight with a faint shimmer, cool and powerful. Matching earrings fastened to my ears like drops of frozen fire.
I styled my strawberry-blond hair into an elaborate updo, twisting ribbons and jeweled pins into the curls until they glittered like crowns.
Then came the final touch—a short, delicate veil draping lightly over my head, softening my gaze and deepening the illusion.
Fine leather shoes, dusted with gemstones, slipped onto my feet.
I stood before the mirror, heart thrumming.
What stared back was not the girl who poisoned her family—
It was a woman cloaked in elegance, vengeance, and desire.
A siren draped in silk.
I grabbed a small velvet bag, slipped in a few essentials, and drew the strings closed.
Tonight, the masquerade awaited.
And I would arrive as no one—and everyone—all at once.
The clock ticked louder, like a countdown echoing through my skull. I paced the room, scanning for anything I might’ve forgotten. Time was slipping through my fingers like fine sand.
Then, at the last possible moment, I spotted the silver locket.
My mother had given it to me when I was a child. It was etched with a rose and still warm with old memories. I fastened it around my neck, a final, ironic touch of sentimentality.
The mask was next, delicate black lace embroidered with tiny seed pearls. Mammina had planned to wear it. Now, it was mine.
I held my breath as I eased open the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. The house groaned with sickness, silence pressing in like a second skin.
This was it—my one shot at freedom.
I couldn’t risk Tomaso’s arrival drawing attention. I would meet him at the edge of the estate, beneath the cover of trees.
The stench of bile and sickness curled into my nose as I passed closed doors. I moved like a wraith, my shoes silent on the stone floor.
The front door let out a loud, traitorous squeal.
I froze.
Heart pounding. Lungs locked.
Nothing stirred.
I exhaled, then slipped outside, carefully closing the door behind me. The night air wrapped around me, cool and full of promise.
I crept past the fountain, its waters glittering under the moonlight, and hurried down the stone walkway. At the edge of the circular drive, I broke into a run, lifting my gown and letting my jeweled shoes kiss the earth with every determined stride.
Then I heard it.
The grinding of carriage wheels over gravel. The soft snort of sleek, black horses cut through the quiet.
I waved my arms, signaling the driver.
The carriage stopped. The door creaked open.
Tomaso sat inside, dressed in a dark velvet coat and silver cravat. His hair was tousled in just the right way. His eyes gleamed behind his ornate mask, and his smile was sin incarnate.
“Alina,” he purred, reaching out to take my gloved hand, “you’re positively enchanting.”
A surge of triumph bloomed in my chest. I had done it.
Escaped the cage. Cast the spell. And now the night belonged to me.
I slipped into the carriage like a queen entering her throne room.
The masquerade awaited. And I was ready to set the world ablaze.