KINGSLAYER

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"Even me?" Adelié batted mockingly wide eyes at her.

"What part of equally do you not understand?"

"Uhh..." Margaux pointed. "Ghislaine, are you already drunk?" Ghislaine's head was angled down, her face nearly planted into her food.

"On less than two glasses?" Adelié asked. "Given her past experiences, not likely—"

Ghislaine fell to the floor with a slap.

She had drank Jaylah's wine. She looked on in horror as Adelié put her hand against Ghislaine's sweaty forehead to check for sign of illness. Ghislaine was not sick. She was poisoned.

"Get her up," Jaylah nearly screamed. "She needs the infirmary now or she will die." What if she did die? How could she go on knowing the girl took the death meant for her?

Her mind spun as the others connected the dots. Their faces were now pale and grim as they hoisted Ghislaine up. Ermalai had done this. Why would he give her a death by poison if he had Alexander on call to kill her anytime? Unless the poison was not meant to kill her, only significantly weaken her. Perhaps even have her on bed rest so Ermalai could move unchecked. Her throat was too tight to breathe as she looked down at Ghislaine's body, so much shorter and thinner than hers. The amount might not be enough to murder Jaylah, but to murder Ghislaine it was overkill.

In less than ten minutes, Ghislaine was in one of the infirmary beds being worked on by three separate physicians and several nurses. They surrounded her body so tightly none of the others could catch a glimpse of her as they paced and bit their nails, fearing the worst.

"What if she doesn't make it?" Adelié was whispering to no one in particular. "I know we were joking, but what if I was being too hard on her earlier and—"

"You were just teasing," Sonia said softly. "So was she. This is no one's fault."

"Still." Adelié bit her lip so hard it turned white. "She could be..."

No one had the courage to finish her sentence, though they all knew how it ended.

The next time Jaylah glanced over, Zensa had shifted ever so slightly. It was small, but her shoulder leaned against Adelié's as unspoken support. Neither of them made eye contact.

The physicians were still rushing around the bed, which meant not all hope was lost. The nurses were bringing out a bucket, which made Jaylah think they were going to make her vomit up the contents of her stomach to save her. What if it was too late and it had coursed too long through her bloodstream? She could not rid herself of the image of her passing the untouched drink to Ghislaine. She was herself. Of course people would poison her.

"Your Majesty?" A servant was at her arm in no time. "I apologize for interrupting, but you are wanted down at the stables. It seems your steed was poisoned as well."

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"He's dying," the pallid stablehand said at the question on Jaylah's face. "There's no way around it, Your Majesty. We did all we could, but he likely won't pull through—"

Jaylah forced past him and went into the stall, which was unlocked and unbarred for the first time she could remember. Hay crunched under her feet. There he was. A huge dark mass, motionless. He was laying on the ground sideways, like a horse that had fallen in battle. Like a beast that was already dead.

He should be leaping up and taking this rare opportunity to break his way out of his stall and go to the gardens where he could run free. It was always what he wanted to do. He loved Jaylah, but he never understood why she had to keep him locked up when he was not being watched. It was so this very thing would not occur.