bChapter /bb213 /b

They carried me upstairs, not to the ward but to our room.

Francesco would not let the smell of iron and tinctures be the first thing I breathed when the world steadied.

Heid me on the edge of the bed and knelt on the rug as if prayer could be stitched into wood. Monica’s hands moved in clean, practiced circles–cloth at my mouth, bowl ready, vial uncorked, bitter drops on my tongue that made the poison roll and spit instead of cling.

“Again,” she murmured, voice both order and luby. “Spit. Good. Again.”

Audrey posted herself at the door, a de in her hand and a second one in her gaze. Marlow paced like a tide -three strides to the hearth, turn, three strides back–muttering orders under his breath that runner wolves would hear two corridors away.

“Where is Alfonso?” he asked without looking.

“Already gone,” Audrey said. “Took two of the fastest and that brown mare he hates. They’ll switch at Saint- Ferréol, again at the white bridge.”

Francesco’s palm was a brand at the small of my back, keeping me anchored when the room lurched. He did not speak except to answer Monica when she asked for water, for a cloth, for the tiny ss spoon Maria uses for saffron.

“She’s emptying,” Monica announced after a time that felt like a winter. “Good. But it’s not all kitchen craft.” Her eyes met mine–gentle, then flint. “There’s a second mouth in this poison. I can taste its teeth.”

“Wolfsbane and tinctured silver,” Audrey said.

Monica nodded once. “And something that doesn’t belong to mortars or pestles. It lingers at the edges. A… hum.”

The fen. The word didn’t need saying. Ity between us like a wet shadow.

Francesco’s hand tightened on the linen. “You’ll hold her until Liraes.”

Monica’s chin went up. “Like the tide holds the shore.”

He bent and kissed my temple, the press lingering as if he could bruise the poison itself into retreat. “Amore,” he murmured into my hair. “I need to-”

“To hunt,” I finished for him, breath still ragged. “Yes.” My palm found his jaw, the scrape of his stubble a familiar map. “But listen to me.” I swallowed, a small burn. “The children. Do not frighten them. Do not punish them.”

His eyes cut to mine, a re of wolf–bright anger damped by the request. “They carried the de to your throat.”

“They carried a cake,” I said softly. “Someone else tied the de to it. Let Audrey and Marlow ask. Gently. If you glower, they’ll drown in fear and we’ll learn nothing.”

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55 Vouchers

“Better than being unlovedi,/i” I teased her.

But I listened when she insisted on tasting first, on sniffing each offering like a hound. Francesco had told her more than once: Guard her like your own life. And Audrey obeyed with almost feral devotion.

Still, I confess–I grew careless.

Not careless from arrogance, but from the sweetness of it all. From the joy of belonging.

After years of rejection, years of being whispered about, to be cherished by people who had no reason to love me… it softened me.

And perhaps too much.

It happened on the fifth day.

The morning was bright, the sky washed pale blue, and I had gone to the garden with my sketchbook though I drew nothing.

Children found me there, three of them, with a small cake held carefully between their palms. It was lopsided, the icing uneven, and the pride in their faces was so bright I didn’t think twice.

“For you, Luna!” the smallest one chirped.

I smiled, heart swelling. “For me? You made this yourselves?”

They nodded furiously, grinning. I didn’t call for Audrey. I didn’t summon Monica. I simply broke off a piece,ughing when sugar dusted my fingertips, and ate it.

Sweet. A little bitter at the back. But sweet.

I was smiling when the first pain hit. fn6b00 Updates are released by find~novel/fn6b00

It mmed into my stomach like a stone, sharp and hot. My smile crumpled. The children’s faces blurred as I doubled over, gagging. My throat burned, bile rising, and I fell to my knees in the dirt.

Mika roared in my head, but her voice was muffled by the poison flooding me. ‘Wolfsbane. Silver. Something worse–move, move!‘

I couldn’t…

My body convulsed, my vision flickering ck.

“LUNA!” Audrey’s voice tore across the garden.

She was there in a heartbeat, shoving the children back, sword drawn as though the cake itself had sprouted ws.

Monica sprinted from the kitchen, skirts flying, shouting for water, for herbs.

I tried to speak–I’m fine, I’m fine–but all that came was vomit, hot and sour, staining the earth. My hands

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shook so hard I couldn’t wipe my mouth. The pain was a wildfire now, searing through every nerve.

Then the world shook with a different fire.

Francesco.

I felt him before I saw him, the bond ripping open with his fury.

The air thickened, heat pressing down, and then he was there, storming through the garden like a god of old. His eyes zed darkened, his chest heaved, and blood–fresh, hot–still streaked his hands from training.

“Eine!” He dropped beside me, hauling me into his arms. I tried to push him iaway/ii, /inot wanting him to touch the filth, but he only held tighter. “Who did this!!” His voice was not a question. It was a death sentence waiting for a name.

Audrey knelt, sword still in hand. “Cake. From the children. She ate-”

His roar split the sky.

Birds exploded from the trees.

The children screamed and cried.

Even Monica stumbled back, clutching her satchel.

I clutched his shirt, fighting through the haze. “Francesco, stop. It isn’t–don’t-”

But he wasn’t hearing me. His Lycan power surged, the ground trembling. Marlow came barreling in with warriors, skidding to a halt at the sight. His eyes widened; he’d seen Francesco in rage before, but not like this.

“Alpha!” he barked, as if reminding him he was king, not beast.

Francesco’s head snapped up, teeth bared. His eyes burned with murder. For a moment I thought he would unleash it all–burn the garden, tear the walls down, ughter anyone in reach.

And then the bond tugged. Hard.

I forced myself upright in his arms, though pain knifed through me. “Francesco… My.. Love… Look at me!!”

His gaze dropped, wild, unfocused.

“Look at me!” I grabbed his face with both trembling hands, forcing his golden eyes onto mine. My tears burned, but I held steady. “I’m here. I’m alive. Don’t give them what they want.”

His breath came ragged, chest heaving like a man choking on fire.

But slowly, slowly, the ze dimmed.

His grip tightened around me, desperate, as though he might anchor himself through me alone.

“Eine….” he whispered, voice cracked. “My mate. My Luna. They dared-”

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4G 64

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“I know,” I cut him off, swallowing bile. “But if you rage, if you burn, you’ll prove them right. They want to see that I am your weakness. Don’t let them.”

The words cost me everything, but I said them.

And he heard.

Francesco closed his eyes, forehead pressing to mine.

His arms trembled around me, but he held.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, deadly calm. “Alfonso.”

The Beta was there instantly, face pale.

“Send word to Florence,” Francesco ordered. “Now. Bring Lira. Run the wolves to bone if you must. Shees. Today.”

Alfonso bowed sharply and vanished.

Monica knelt, pressing a cloth to my lips. “Luna, spit what you can. Don’t swallow.”

I obeyed weakly, coughing, shaking.

Audrey hovered, de still drawn, eyes darting for threats no one else could see.

Marlow cursed under his breath, directing soldiers to secure the grounds.

Francesco never let me go. His voice stayed in my ear, steady and soft, even as his body shook with rage. “You’ll be all right, amore mio. I swear it. I’ll bring the world down before I let it take you.”

And through the pain, through the bitter taste on my tongue, I knew the truth: this was no ident. No careless gift. This was a strike aimed at his heart, through me.

They thought to prove me his weakness.

But they had no idea how strong love could make him.

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They carried me upstairs, not to the ward but to our room.

55 vouchers

Francesco would not let the smell of iron and tinctures be the first thing I breathed when the world steadied.

Heid me on the edge of the bed and knelt on the rug as if prayer could be stitched into wood. Monica’s hands moved in clean, practiced circles–cloth at my mouth, bowl ready, vial uncorked, bitter drops on my tongue that made the poison roll and spit instead of cling.

“Again,” she murmured, voice both order and luby. “Spit. Good. Again.”

Audrey posted herself at the door, a de in her hand and a second one in her gaze. Marlow paced like a tide -three strides to the hearth, turn, three strides back–muttering orders under his breath that runner wolves would hear two corridors away.

“Where is Alfonso?” he asked without looking.

“Already gone,” Audrey said. “Took two of the fastest and that brown mare he hates. They’ll switch at Saint- Ferréol, again at the white bridge.”

Francesco’s palm was a brand at the small of my back, keeping me anchored when the room lurched. He did not speak except to answer Monica when she asked for water, for a cloth, for the tiny ss spoon Maria uses for saffron.

“She’s emptying,” Monica announced after a time that felt like a winter. “Good. But it’s not all kitchen craft.” Her eyes met mine–gentle, then flint. “There’s a second mouth in this poison. I can taste its teeth.”

“Wolfsbane and tinctured silver,” Audrey said.

Monica nodded once. “And something that doesn’t belong to mortars or pestles. It lingers at the edges. A… hum.”

The fen. The word didn’t need saying. Ity between us like a wet shadow.

Francesco’s hand tightened on the linen. “You’ll hold her until Liraes.”

Monica’s chin went up. “Like the tide holds the shore.”

He bent and kissed my temple, the press lingering as if he could bruise the poison itself into retreat. “Amore,” he murmured into my hair. “I need to-”

“To hunt,” I finished for him, breath still ragged. “Yes.” My palm found his jaw, the scrape of his stubble a familiar map. “But listen to me.” I swallowed, a small burn. “The children. Do not frighten them. Do not punish them.”

His eyes cut to mine, a re of wolf–bright anger damped by the request. “They carried the de to your throat.”

“They carried a cake,” I said softly. “Someone else tied the de to it. Let Audrey and Marlow ask. Gently. If you glower, they’ll drown in fear and we’ll learn nothing.”

55 Vouchers

He closed his eyes once, a slow hinge, then opened them on obedience. Not to me–never that—but to the bond we’d tied with truth. “Audrey,” he said.

She was already at the threshold, even before he spoke. “I’ll find them.”

Marlow halted his tide. “I’ll go with you. I know the corners where children hide when they think they’ve done something wrong.”

“Not wrong,” I whispered. “Kind. That’s what they thought.”

“Kind,” Marlow repeated, dry and fond. He gave me a brief, courtly bow that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. “We’ll bring back kindness and names.”

They vanished.

Silence widened, a necessary room. Monica’s hands stayed steady. My breaths found a slower count. Francesco remained kneeling, not moving except when my body needed movement–a cloth, a cup, a brace at my spine when a shiver rattled through me.

After a time, the world sharpened at the edges. The nausea retreated to a shoreline inside me, still present but not crashing. Iy back against pillows that smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke. Francesco’s fingers slid into mine and stayed.

“When Liraes,” I murmured, “you have to let her be awful for a moment.”

He huffed a breath. “She always is.”

“You need awful,” I said. “It will save me.”

He bent enough that his forehead rested on our joined hands. He didn’t tell me not to say save. He had learned that with me, it was a prayer, not drama.

A soft knock, and then the door eased open without waiting for permission–only two people did that: Maria and Audrey. This time, Audrey. She slipped inside with a pocket of quiet around her that made even the coals listen.

“They’re below,” she said. “The children. Marlow has them by the ovens. Maria gave them seats and slices they are not to touch until I say.”

“Good,” Francesco said, rising in one economical motion. He looked down at me; the gold in his eyes had cooled to warm metal. “I’ll go.”

I shook my head. “No. Not at first.”

He almost argued. Then his mouth firmed into a different kind ofmand–of self. He came back to the bed and kissed my knuckles once, lightly, as if they might bruise into stars. “I trust you.”

“Take your Alpha off,” I said, managing the ghost of a smile. “Put on your… uncle face.”

He actually huffed a quietugh, one hand briefly over his eyes. “Saints help us all.” He turned to Audrey. “You lead. He does the smiling.”

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Audrey’s mouth might have twitched. “He can practice on Maria.”

They were gone a heartbeatter. The door clicked shut.

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Monica fussed, which meant she was stalling a worry she didn’t want me to see. “We’lly you on your side? she said. “No, the other, let the liver. Good. Breathe. She tucked nkets where chills might enter and smoothed my hair back the way she does with children and kings alike.

“How long?” I asked.

“For Lira?” Monica’s mouth twisted. “If Alfonso doesn’t break a leg, dusk. If he does, she will still be here by dusk. She rides worse than any man I’ve seen and still somehow arrives first.”

I smiled, and it didn’t hurt.