Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 495. The Tonic
Her lips pressed thinly.
If Angel had indeed reached him…
Then the timeline accelerated.
She lifted the vial and tucked it into a small silver tray along with a porcelain cup.
Her expression shifted seamlessly.
Softened.
Warmer.
Concerned.
The door to her chamber opened silently.
She moved into the corridor.
Guards bowed as she passed.
The castle felt different tonight.
Tighter.
As if threads were being pulled simultaneously from opposite ends.
She moved toward Roric's chamber wing.
Every step deliberate.
Every breath controlled.
Her mind calculated.
If Angel was observing, he would expect confrontation.
She would give him affection instead.
If Roric resisted, she would increase the dosage slightly.
Not enough to alarm Rose's healer senses.
Just enough to blur clarity.
Jane…
Her gaze darkened faintly.
Jane was unfinished business.
The shadows would handle that eventually.
But Angel complicating matters was inconvenient.
She approached Roric's door.
Knocked softly.
Three gentle taps.
Inside, footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Roric stood there.
Calm.
Composed.
Too composed.
Her eyes flicked over him quickly.
No visible fog in his gaze.
Interesting.
"My dear," she said softly, stepping forward slightly. "I heard you visited the physician today."
Her tone carried gentle reproach.
"You should have told me. I would have prepared something stronger."
She lifted the tray slightly.
"For your headache."
Roric's gaze flicked briefly to the vial.
Then back to her.
There it was.
The hesitation.
Subtle.
But present.
Seraphine smiled inwardly.
Still mine.
For now.
"I thought I would bring it personally," she continued warmly. "You mustn't strain yourself."
She stepped inside without waiting for full invitation.
The shadows in the corridor shifted faintly as they passed unseen.
The game required patience.
And Seraphine had always been very patient.
Angel might see in the dark.
But she had been shaping darkness long before he wore a crown.
Seraphine stepped fully into Roric's chamber, her presence gentle, unthreatening.
Roric bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. You didn't have to come personally."
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
Seraphine smiled warmly. "Of course I did. You're family."
She moved to the small table near his window and set the tray down carefully. The porcelain cup clinked lightly against the saucer.
"I heard the headaches returned," she said softly. "You worry me."
Roric walked toward the table, gaze resting briefly on the vial. The clear liquid shimmered faintly in candlelight.
"I visited the physician," he replied calmly. "Just a precaution."
Seraphine's lashes lowered slightly.
"And what did he say?"
"Rest."
She smiled faintly. "Rest doesn't cure everything."
Roric forced a small nod. "No. It doesn't."
He reached for the vial.
His fingers closed around it.
Cool glass.
Steady.
He felt her eyes on him.
He needed a sample.
Just a drop.
Just enough for Rose.
"I'll drink it shortly," he said, turning slightly toward his inner desk. "Let me put it away first."
He took two steps inward.
Seraphine's voice followed him, still sweet.
"Why postpone it?"
Roric's back stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"It's fresh," she continued lightly. "Best taken immediately."
He turned halfway back to her.
"I was going to drink it," he said evenly.
Her gaze sharpened just slightly.
"Then do."
The air shifted.
Soft words.
Hard intention.
She moved closer to the table again, fingertips resting lightly on the edge.
"I would feel better watching you," she added gently. "Just to make sure the dosage is correct."
Roric's pulse quickened.
She wanted to see him drink it.
All of it.
His mind raced.
If he drank it now, the fog might return.
Even slightly.
Enough to dull the clarity he had just regained.
Enough to delay everything.
But if he refused…
She would suspect.
Her eyes never left his face.
Concern painted carefully across her features.
"I know you dislike the taste," she murmured. "But it helps."
Helps.
Roric stepped back toward the table slowly.
The vial felt heavier in his hand.
He uncorked it.
The faint scent of herbs rose, sweet at first, then metallic beneath.
His fingers tightened slightly.
He needed a sample.
He needed to survive this moment.
He poured the tonic into the porcelain cup carefully.
The liquid pooled quietly.
Seraphine watched the surface, not him.
Calculating.
"Drink," she said softly.
Roric lifted the cup.
His reflection wavered faintly in the pale liquid.
For a split second, he considered spilling it.
But that would be obvious.
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