Poisoned Thrones

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“Strange,” Wren muttered, close enough that only I caught it. “They drink when you do. Only then.”
I smiled, sharper than I felt. “Then let’s see if they choke on it.”
I drank. The wine burned—not poisoned, but bitter, like being forced to dance to a song you hadn’t chosen.
Gideon’s hand brushed my sleeve, quiet warning. “Vivian,” he said low, “careful. You’re already playing their game.”
I clinked my goblet hard against the table, holding the masked figure’s gaze. “No,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if I said it to Gideon or myself. “I’m teaching them I don’t lose.”.....
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