Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~12 min read
The poison had taken Raven three hours to prepare.
She’d found the components in the palace gardens—night-blooming deathshade, crystallized wraith essence, and a fungus that grew only in absolute darkness. Mixed properly, it created a toxin that was odorless, tasteless, and lethal within thirty seconds.
The Guild had taught her seventeen different ways to poison someone. This was method number three, reserved for targets with high toxin resistance.
Prince Draven Shadowfire would be dead before dessert.
Probably.
Raven stood in front of the mirror in her chambers, adjusting the dark green dress that had been laid out for her. It was beautiful—silk that moved like water, fitted perfectly, with hidden pockets she absolutely hadn’t requested but deeply appreciated. Someone understood assassins needed to carry supplies even to formal dinners.
The vial of poison fit perfectly in the pocket near her right hip.
“You look nervous,” Vex’s voice came from the doorway. She hadn’t heard him knock. Fae and their unsettling stealth. “First attempt jitters?”
“I don’t get nervous.” She turned from the mirror. “I’m efficient.”
“Efficiently nervous.” He smiled. “The prince is looking forward to this. He’s been cheerful all day. It’s disturbing.”
“He knows I’m going to try something.”
“Of course he does. You’re an assassin at dinner with your target. He’d be disappointed if you didn’t try something.” Vex gestured toward the door. “Shall we? The private dining hall is on the third floor, west wing. Don’t worry about getting lost—the palace knows where you need to be tonight.”
“The palace knows?”
“It’s attuned to the prince’s desires. He wants you at dinner, so the corridors will guide you there.” Vex started walking, and Raven followed. “One of the perks of ruling a semi-sentient shadow palace.”
They walked through corridors that did indeed seem to guide her, each turn feeling inevitable, each doorway opening at exactly the right moment. The Shadow Court palace was helping her get to dinner where she planned to murder its master.
The irony was not lost on her.
“Advice?” Vex stopped at an ornate door carved with scenes of shadows consuming light. “Be creative. He’s seen every standard assassination technique. Surprise him, and you might actually succeed.”
“I thought you were loyal to the prince.”
“I am. Which is why I’m helping you give him the challenge he’s been craving.” Vex opened the door. “Good luck, Assassin Storm. Try not to die during the first attempt. It would be anticlimactic.”
He left before she could respond.
Raven stepped through the doorway into a dining hall that was somehow both intimate and intimidating. Small—just one table, two chairs, floating orbs of soft light. But the shadows in the corners seemed alive, watching, and the windows showed a view of the shadow realm that shouldn’t exist from a third-floor room.
Prince Draven sat at the table, reading a book, wine glass at his elbow. He looked up when she entered, and those violet eyes caught the light.
“Raven.” He stood, closing the book. “You look lovely. Green suits you better than assassin black.”
“Thank you.” She moved to the table, hyperaware of the vial in her pocket. “You look… the same as earlier.”
“Five hundred years of existence, and I’ve perfected exactly one outfit.” He gestured to his black attire with silver embroidery. “Why change what works?”
A servant appeared from the shadows—literally materialized from darkness—carrying trays of food. They set plates in front of each chair, filled wine glasses, and disappeared back into the shadows without a word.
“They’re constructs,” Draven explained, noticing her stare. “Made of shadow and magic. Useful for tasks that don’t require conversation. Please, sit.”
Raven sat, studying the food. Some kind of roasted meat, vegetables that glowed faintly, bread that smelled incredible. The wine was deep red, almost black.
And her glass was on her right, his on his left.
“You’re wondering which glass is poisoned,” Draven said casually, picking up his fork. “Yours or mine. Or both. Or neither, because you have the poison on your person and plan to administer it during dinner.”
She kept her expression neutral. “That’s a lot of assumptions.”
“You’re an assassin at dinner with your target. Poison is the obvious first attempt. Low risk, high reward, easily disguised.” He took a bite of the meat, chewing thoughtfully. “I’ve been poisoned approximately four hundred and seventy-three times over my life. It’s practically tradition at this point.”
“Four hundred and seventy-three?” Raven picked up her own fork, not eating yet. “That seems excessive.”
“Fae court politics. Everyone’s always trying to murder everyone else. Keeps things interesting.” He reached for his wine glass—then paused, smiled, and picked up hers instead. “This is yours, I believe.”
Her heart didn’t race. She’d trained that response out of herself. But something cold settled in her stomach as she watched him raise her glass to his lips.
“Wait—” The word escaped before she could stop it.
He paused, violet eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is there a problem?”
Raven’s mind raced. If she’d already poisoned the glasses, he’d just drunk from hers, which meant… but she’d planned to add poison during dinner, not before. So the glasses were clean. Unless someone else had poisoned them. Or he’d poisoned them himself as a test.
“No problem,” she said finally. “I just thought we should toast first.”
“Ah. How civilized.” He held up her glass—the one in his hand. “To what shall we toast?”
“To interesting challenges.”
“Perfect.” He clinked her glass against his glass—the one she was now holding—and drank deeply from hers.
Raven sipped from his glass, watching him carefully for any sign of distress. Nothing. He set the glass down, completely fine.
“The wine is excellent,” he said. “From the Night Court vineyards. They’re insufferable about their wines, but I have to admit, they’re skilled.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was incredible—flavors Raven had never experienced, textures that shouldn’t be possible. She’d eaten Guild rations her whole life. This was revelation.
“You’ve never had real food before.” Draven’s observation was quiet, lacking his usual humor. “The Guild didn’t feed you well.”
“The Guild fed us efficiently.” She took another bite, refusing to let him see how much she was enjoying it. “Food is fuel. Taste is irrelevant.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in decades.” He refilled both wine glasses from a decanter that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. “One of the few benefits of immortality is having time to appreciate good food. I’ve spent centuries learning to cook, finding perfect recipes, tracking down rare ingredients.”
“You cook?”
“I’m five hundred years old and bored. I’ve learned everything worth learning.” He smiled. “Cooking is surprisingly therapeutic. Lots of knives involved. You’d probably enjoy it.”
Despite herself, Raven smiled back. Just a small one. “Are you trying to bond with me before I kill you?”
“I’m trying to have an interesting conversation with the first person in decades who isn’t afraid to speak honestly to me.” He leaned back in his chair. “Everyone else either fears me or wants something from me. You just want me dead. It’s refreshingly straightforward.”
“I also want the payment and my freedom.”
“Even better. Clear motivations. I appreciate that in an assassin.” He picked up his wine glass—her original glass—and studied it in the light. “So when were you planning to administer the poison? Before dessert? After? During a distraction?”
Raven’s hand moved to the pocket with the vial. Still there. Still undetected.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” He took another sip from the glass. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that you’d prepared a very clever poison. Something rare, something that works on fae despite our resistances. You’d want to wait until I was relaxed, distracted, perhaps laughing at a joke. Then you’d make your move.”
He was describing exactly what she’d planned.
“Hypothetically,” she said carefully.
“Hypothetically.” He set the glass down and pushed it toward her. “This is your glass. The one I’ve been drinking from. If it were poisoned—and I’m not saying it is—I would have consumed a lethal dose by now.”
They stared at each other across the table.
“But you haven’t.” Raven’s mind raced. “You’re still alive.”
“Fae have very high toxin resistance. And I’ve built up immunity to most common poisons over the centuries.” He tilted his head. “Of course, that’s general knowledge. You’d know that. So you’d use something rare, something unusual. Something like night-blooming deathshade mixed with wraith essence and shadow fungus.”
The exact recipe. He’d named the exact components.
“You’re bluffing.” She kept her voice steady. “You can’t possibly know—”
“I can smell it.” He tapped his nose. “Fae senses. The deathshade has a very faint scent, almost undetectable to most. But I’ve been poisoned so many times, I’ve learned to identify components by trace smell alone.”
Raven’s hand tightened on her fork. “So you knew from the moment I sat down.”
“I suspected from the moment you entered. You had that focused determination that suggested you’d prepared something clever.” His smile was genuine, almost proud. “The question was when and how you’d administer it. I’m impressed you held back this long. Shows patience.”
“I haven’t poisoned anything yet.”
“Haven’t you?” He gestured to her glass—the one she’d been drinking from, the one that had originally been his. “Because I switched our glasses while you were distracted by the food. Several times, actually. By now, I’m not sure either of us knows which glass started out as whose.”
Raven looked at her wine glass, then at his, then back at hers. When had he switched them? She’d been paying attention, hadn’t she?
“You’re trying to make me doubt myself.” She set down her fork. “Psychological warfare.”
“Little bit.” He reached across the table—she tensed—and picked up her glass. The one she’d been drinking from. And before she could react, he drank the rest in one long swallow.
Then he set the empty glass down, smiled, and said, “Delicious.”
Thirty seconds passed.
He didn’t die.
Didn’t show any sign of distress.
Just sat there, perfectly healthy, looking amused.
“I don’t understand.” Raven’s carefully controlled facade cracked slightly. “That poison should have killed you. It’s lethal to fae.”
“It is,” he agreed. “In theory. But I’ve spent five hundred years building resistance to toxins. That particular combination?” He waved a hand dismissively. “I developed immunity to it around year three hundred. Assassin number seven used the same recipe.”
“But—” She pulled the vial from her pocket, holding it up. “I didn’t even use it yet.”
“I know.” His smile widened. “Which means someone else poisoned your glass before dinner. Probably Lady Vesper. She’s been trying to kill you since you arrived. Jealous of the attention I’m giving you.”
The realization hit like cold water. “Someone else poisoned my drink.”
“And I’ve been drinking from it all night, testing it for you.” He stood, walking around the table. “You’re welcome, by the way. That particular toxin is quite lethal to mortals. You’d have been dead in seconds.”
“You…” Raven stood too, needing to be on her feet. “You protected me. From poison meant for me. While I was planning to poison you.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” He stopped a few feet away, and shadows swirled around his feet. “Welcome to the Shadow Court, Raven. Everyone’s trying to kill everyone, all the time. The trick is being better at it than they are.”
“Why?” She met his eyes. “Why protect me? I’m here to assassinate you.”
“Because Lady Vesper cheated.” His expression turned cold, dangerous—the first time she’d seen him look actually threatening. “You’re my assassin. If anyone gets to kill you, it’s me. No one else.”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“Besides,” he continued, tone lightening, “I told you I’d make it fair. Poisoning your drink before you even attempt your first assassination? That’s not fair. That’s cheating.”
“What are you going to do about Lady Vesper?”
“Already handled.” He gestured to the window, where shadows moved unnaturally. “She’s currently having a very unpleasant conversation with my dungeons. She won’t bother you again.”
Raven processed that. He’d imprisoned a noble—possibly killed her—for trying to poison the assassin he’d invited to kill him.
The logic was insane.
The protection was… unsettling.
“My first attempt failed,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even get to use the poison I made.”
“Technically true.” Draven moved back to the table, and shadow servants appeared with dessert—some kind of chocolate creation that looked divine. “But you did prepare an excellent toxin, showed good planning, and demonstrated patience in waiting for the right moment. I’m giving this attempt a seven out of ten.”
“You’re rating my assassination attempts?”
“I’ve been doing this for centuries. I’ve developed a scoring system.” He picked up a fork, took a bite of dessert, and closed his eyes in appreciation. “Try this. If you’re going to fail at killing me, at least enjoy the consolation chocolate.”
Raven sat back down, more from shock than anything else. She picked up her fork, tried the dessert.
It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“This is insane,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate. “This entire situation is insane.”
“I warned you.” Draven smiled across the table. “The Shadow Court operates on different rules. You’ll get used to it.”
“I have twenty-nine days left.”
“Twenty-nine days to try again. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with next.” He raised his new wine glass—freshly poured, definitely not poisoned this time. “To interesting challenges, and assassins who make life worth living.”
Against her better judgment, against all logic, Raven raised her glass and clinked it against his.
“To not dying from someone else’s poison.”
“That too.”
They finished dessert in companionable silence, and Raven tried not to think about how she’d just had the most pleasant dinner of her life with the man she was supposed to kill.
Twenty-nine days left.
She’d need a better plan.
And maybe to stop enjoying his company quite so much.
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