[Silthara Palace—Garden Court—Continuation]
"A…Poison?" Levin thought deeply with his eyes widened. 'Is this…how all the other consorts…'
Levin looked at the smashed table. 'the timing was precise, a night after the marriage…just like all those other consorts.'
Silence did not last after this.
It never did after a command like that.
Footsteps thundered through the colonnades as attendants poured into the garden from every archway—men and women in palace colors, heads bowed deep, hands trembling as they dropped to both knees upon the stone. The air still carried the scent of crushed dates and lilies, sweetness soured by fear.
But that wasn't what was dangerous—not dates, not lilies; it was Zeramet's Pheromone, as he stood at the center of it all.
Tall. Still. Terrible and a scent bloomed—slow, inevitable.
Dark lotus.
