A Game of Poison and Power

**Alec’s Perspective
**

The messenger hurried across the dimly lit throne room, the echo of his boots reverberating off the polished stone floor as he approached me. I sat upon a heavy black stone throne that seemed to absorb the light, casting a long shadow over my brooding figure. My sharp, steel-like eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as the messenger knelt before me, offering the sealed letter.

“From Princess Isabella, Your Majesty,” the messenger said, his voice trembling under the weight of my gaze.

My lips curled into a thin smile as I accepted the letter, breaking the wax seal with a deliberate motion. I recognized this for what it was. Isabella's latest attempt at defiance. Stubbornness defined her, yet I could not deny there was something almost admirable in her refusal to yield. Almost.

I unfolded the parchment, my eyes scanning the words with growing intensity. With each line, the smile on my face darkened, twisting into something malevolent. The crackling fire in the nearby hearth cast flickering shadows across my features.

“She thinks herself powerful,” I muttered, my voice low and dangerous.
“She forgets who she is dealing with.”


I finished reading. The room chilled. The amusement evaporated from my expression, replaced by icy rage. The arrogance of her words grated on me. She spoke of her people, her resolve, and her child as if she had already won.

One line particularly stung. You will not win this war. I could almost hear her confidence, daring to challenge me. Standing slowly, I turned toward one of his advisors, a tall man draped in dark robes.

“Prepare my response,” I commanded, my tone lethal.
“She thinks she can challenge me, but she will learn what true fear is.”

The advisor bowed deeply and rushed away, leaving me alone with my dark thoughts. My fingers tightened around the edge of the letter, crumpling it in my grip. Words would not suffice; Isabella needed a reminder—a tangible one—of the power I wielded.

Moments later, a fresh parchment and quill were laid before me. I began to write, my strokes quick and decisive, each word dripping with malice.

Princess Isabella,

You have always had a bold tongue, but you mistake your defiance for strength. Let me remind you of the truth. Your rebellion has survived so far not because of your resolve, but because I allow it. Do not think for a moment that your rebellion, your child, or your lover are beyond my reach.

I find your words amusing, but you fail to grasp the magnitude of your situation. You speak of protecting what is yours, but you have already lost it. Even as you sit, writing with fire in your heart, my forces move closer. Soon, you will watch everything you hold dear crumble before you.

When that time comes, you will beg me for mercy. Mercy that I will not grant. The child you carry, the life you hope to build with James, will never come to pass. I will ensure that your legacy is nothing but ashes and that the final battle is not one you live to see.

Prepare yourself, Isabella, for war is not the only thing coming to your doorstep. Death will soon follow, and I will make sure you feel its cold embrace long before your precious kingdom falls.

King Alec

I sealed the letter with my crest, a menacing sigil of a serpent coiled around a sword and handed it back to the messenger.

“Deliver this directly into Princess Isabella’s hands,” I ordered.
“Make sure she reads it personally.”

The messenger left. I leaned back in my throne, my fingers drumming rhythmically on the armrests. I envisioned her reaction—fear, confusion, perhaps even anger. None of it mattered; soon, she would learn that her defiance had only hastened the destruction of everything she cherished.

I was not finished. A wicked thought crept into my mind, prompting me to summon another advisor.

“Send a small company of my most trusted men to James’ encampment,” I commanded.
“Tell them to get close, just close enough to strike fear, but not to attack.”
“I want him to feel the pressure, to know I am always watching, just as I promised.”

The advisor hurried to carry out the orders. I settled back with a cruel satisfaction. I had played this game many times before; now it was Isabella’s turn to learn the price of standing against me.

**Isabella’s Perspective**

A few days later, I stood by the window, gazing out at the twilight horizon, my heart heavy with the weight of Alec’s earlier threat. I had received no word from James since my last letter, and the silence gnawed at me. The baby stirred within me, sensing my unease.

A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts. A servant entered, bowing low as they handed me another sealed letter. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the crest of King Alec once more. Carefully, I opened it, my hands trembling with a mix of dread and anger. While I read, my blood ran cold.


His response was sharper, more venomous than I had anticipated. He knew too much, too much about my plans, about James. His forces were advancing, and his promise of death clung to every word like a shadow.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the life within me. My heart pounded, but not from fear.

“Alec wants a war?”
“I will give him one.”

I made my way down to the small dining hall, where my advisors sat around a long, polished table. The crackling fire warmed the room, filling the air with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread. Rowan, seated across from me, smiled softly as he raised his goblet.

“To victory and the future,” he said, raising an eyebrow in that playful way he always did.

I mirrored his action, but just as I brought my goblet to my lips, something caught my eye. A maid entered the hall with a tray in hand, moving swiftly to replace my half-empty goblet with a fresh one, her expression unreadable.

“Your drink, my lady,” she murmured, bowing her head.

I frowned slightly. Wrapping my fingers around the stem of the goblet again, I prepared to drink but hesitated as a subtle, bitter scent wafted from the liquid. My eyes narrowed as I swirled it gently. It looked normal, but something felt off.

“Maid,” I called out, my voice calm yet commanding.
“Where did this water come from?”

The maid paused mid-step, her back stiffening.

“From the cellars, my lady, as usual.”
“Is there something wrong?”

I hesitated, glancing between the goblet and the maid. Rowan's gaze darkened, sensing my unease. He stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. I set the goblet down, my eyes locking onto the maid's.

“Take a sip of it.”

The maid paled, her hands trembling as she reached for the goblet.

“I... my lady, I assure you—”

“TAKE A SIP!”

I repeated, my voice like steel, each word sharp and pointed. The maid's hesitation spoke louder than any denial. Her hands fumbled with the goblet before it slipped from her grip, shattering on the stone floor. Water pooled around the fragments, glistening ominously. Rowan was on his feet instantly, grabbing the maid by the arm before she could flee.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The maid stammered; her eyes wide with fear.

“I didn’t... I swear, it wasn’t me...”
“Who sent you?”

Rowan repeated, tightening his grip as I rose from my chair. The room felt colder now, the warmth from the fire distant. My heart raced, not from fear, but from anger. I moved closer to the trembling maid, my gaze sharp and unforgiving.

“Answer him,” I said, my voice deadly calm.
“Or I promise, you will not leave this castle alive.”

Tears welled in the maid's eyes as she shook her head.

“It was... Alec...”
“He gave me no choice!”
“He said he would kill my family if I did not—”

My lips pressed into a thin line as I exchanged a glance with Rowan. With a flick of my hand, I motioned for Rowan to release the maid. She crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

“Take her to the dungeons,” I ordered coldly.
“We will deal with her later.”

Rowan called for the guards, who swiftly dragged the maid away, her cries echoing down the stone corridors. Once the doors closed behind them, silence enveloped the room. Rowan turned to me, his face tense with concern.

“Are you alright?”
“It was a close call,” I muttered, placing a protective hand on my belly.
“He will stop at nothing.”
“No,” Rowan replied, his jaw tightening.
“Neither will we.”