The library door finally swung shut behind them with a muffled, echoing thud. For a second, Cherion just stood there in the corridor, leaning his back slightly against the cold wall, letting out a long, ragged sigh that felt like it had been trapped in his lungs for days.
He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose where a sharp, persistent headache was beginning to pulse behind his temples. They were finally out. They had done the work. After what felt like an grueling marathon through the most obscure texts in the empire, Cherion, Zarius, and their inner circle had managed to pull off a small miracle.
They had narrowed down a list of specific, terrifying poisons that were completely tasteless, entirely odorless, and possessed a brutal, delayed-action mechanism. It was exactly the kind of invisible weapon a coward would use to strike down a royal without leaving a trace on the rim of a silver cup.
Yet, as they began to walk away from the heavy doors, a frustrating, dense silence hung between them. The names of the toxins were written neatly on a scrap of paper tucked safely inside Cherion’s sleeve, but the answers didn’t bring the peace he had hoped for.
"The list doesn’t explain the biggest flaw," Cherion muttered, his voice dropping to a quiet, tense murmur as he kept pace with Zarius. He stared down at his boots as they moved. "Even if the poison is delayed... even if it has no smell. The imperial mages are trained from birth to detect things like that. How did it bypass them completely? Why wasn’t there a single speck of residue left in the... well, I don’t know, the drinks? The food? The everything?"
Zarius slowed his pace slightly, adjusting his stride so he remained perfectly shoulder-to-shoulder with the young omega. He glanced down, his eyes softening with a rare gentleness as he took in the tight strain in Cherion’s posture and the faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
Without a word, Zarius reached out. His large, calloused hand lightly brushed against the back of Cherion’s fingers. It wasn’t a demanding grip, just a brief, steady touch, a silent reminder that they were no longer in that hidden, cramped corner of the archives where their breaths had tangled together just an hour ago.
"You’re running yourself ragged, Cherion," Zarius said smoothly, his deep voice carrying a low, grounding rumble that instantly cut through the frantic spinning of Cherion’s thoughts. "Let the imperial mages stress over the alchemy. Your mind needs to breathe."
Cherion let out a faint smile, finally looking away from the floorboards to glance out the grand, arched windows of the. The sky outside was bleeding into a deep, bruised orange, the sun dipping low behind the capital’s jagged mountain peaks.
"I know," Cherion admitted softly, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "Honestly, if you asked me a few months ago, I would have told you I didn’t want to get involved in any of this. I didn’t want to waste my days playing detective, digging through ancient history, or putting myself in the middle of the palace’s dirty laundry. I just wanted peace. But..."
He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. He stopped walking, his fingers curling slightly into his sleeves. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The reality of the situation, and the terrifying stakes of losing the people who actually mattered to him now, hung heavily in the air.
"I know," Zarius countered, stopping right beside him. He turned fully, his broad frame blocking the view of the distant servants and effectively creating a small, private bubble for the two of them in the vast hallway. His gaze was fierce, unyielding, and completely steady. "I feel the same uneasy feeling. But we aren’t going to solve everything in a single afternoon."
He stepped closer, and his voice dipped into a low, private whisper that only Cherion could hear. "Do you remember how many sleepless nights we’ve already spent locked in that library just to get to know more about my curse and your power?"
A small smile touched Cherion’s lips, the heavy knot of panic about the palace completely dissolving under Zarius’s steady gaze. "Well... I suppose we indeed need more time," he murmured softly, his eyes locking onto Zarius’s. "I guess a single afternoon won’t break us."
"Exactly," Zarius murmured, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a tiny smile as he stepped back just enough to give Cherion space. "So let it rest for now. We’ll figure out the rest later."
But the brief moment of comfort vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
As they turned the corner, the quiet, elite atmosphere of the palace completely shattered. A large group of imperial maids came rushing down the corridor from the opposite direction. They weren’t walking with their usual disciplined, silent grace, they were practically running, their faces entirely pale.
Their hands trembled so violently that the empty silver trays they carried clattered against one another in a chaotic, tinny rhythm. They were whispering frantically, their eyes darting around as if the walls themselves were listening.
Cherion froze, his brow instantly furrowing. "What in the world...?"
Before Zarius could answer, a cluster of high-ranking nobles emerged from the adjoining gallery. They weren’t moving with their usual slow, arrogant dignity either. Instead, they were huddled tightly together, their expensive silk and velvet robes rustling loudly as they pushed past one another, exchanging sharp, panicked glances and speaking in muffled, urgent tones.
Right in the middle of the frantic crowd, Cherion spotted a very familiar, aristocratic face.
"Lord Derrick!" Cherion called out, stepping forward without a second thought.
The young noble snapped his head around at the sound of his name. A look of immense, profound relief washed over Derrick’s face when he recognized Cherion and the imposing, dangerous silhouette of Zarius standing right beside him. Derrick quickly broke away from the anxious cluster of lords, pushing his way through the corridor toward them. Marchioness Avery was just a few steps behind him, her usual perfectly composed, ice-cold expression completely replaced by a tense mask.
"Oh, Lord Cherion!" Derrick called out, his voice dropping into an incredibly low, hurried whisper the moment he reached them. He gave a quick, respectful nod to Zarius, though his hands were visibly shaking as he adjusted the cuffs of his tailored coat.
"Lord Derrick, what’s going on?" Cherion asked, his heart beginning to thud uncomfortably against his ribs as he took in the sheer panic rippling through the hallway. "Everyone is running around like the palace is about to collapse. Did something happen?"
Marchioness Avery stepped into their small circle, her sharp, calculating eyes immediately scanning the corridor, ensuring that no imperial guards or rival factions were within earshot of their conversation. The sheer gravity on her face made Cherion’s blood instantly turn to ice.
Derrick looked around nervously one last time, his throat bobbing hard as he swallowed. He leaned in closer to Cherion and Zarius, his voice barely a breath against the sudden, suffocating silence that seemed to wrap around their small group.
"We heard something," Derrick whispered, his eyes dark with a sudden, gripping horror. "They... they just found a body."