[Third Person].
redith had barely taken a dozen steps down the corridor when Valmora rose within her with cold, coiled disapproval.
"You are making a mistake," Valmora said, her voice low and dangerous in redith’s mind. "That creature should not be allowed to live."
redith did not stop walking, and she didn’t rush to utter a word yet.
"She is a shapeshifter," Valmora continued. "A liar by nature. A survivor without loyalty. Even bound, she will look for cracks. Even obedient, she will wait for weakness."
"I know," redith replied silently, her pace steady.
"Then why attempt to keep her?" Valmora demanded. "Why gamble with your life?"
redith’s lips curved faintly. "Because I am not gambling."
Valmora bristled. "Explain."
"I already have a solution," redith answered calmly.
A small pause followed. Valmora said nothing. Seeing that redith was so stubborn about this, she withdrew.
redith knew Valmora was not appeased or convinced, but she didn’t care.
---
By the ti redith Xamira’s nanny returned to the bedroom, the arrangents were restored.
Also, the guard resud his position outside the door, posture alert but unobtrusive. Nothing about the hallway suggested that anything was amiss—no whispers, no raised suspicion.
Everything was contained and controlled.
Draven, after ensuring the security was back in place, went looking for redith. He found her at her workstation.
The familiar scent of herbs filled the room—bitter roots, crushed leaves, faint sweetness beneath it all.
redith stood at the table, sleeves rolled up, hands thodical as she worked. Small vials were lined neatly beside her, and a dark liquid simred gently over low heat.
Draven did not waste ti. "You’re really considering accepting her," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
redith did not look up. She nodded once. "Yes."
His jaw tightened. "That’s a mistake."
redith continued working, knowing he wasn’t yet done with his complaint and worry.
"She is not trustworthy," Draven went on. "It would be cleaner and safer to end this now."
Still, redith said nothing.
Draven moved closer, his voice lowering. "redith. She can beco anything. Anyone. She can disappear without leaving a trace. Don’t you think this is dangerous?"
Still, there was no word or sign of acknowledgent.
He exhaled sharply. "What happens when she betrays you mid-mission? What happens when she decides survival matters more than obedience?"
redith finally set the pestle down. "That’s why I’m working on the solution," she said evenly.
Draven frowned. "What solution?"
She turned to face him. "If Xamira chooses to serve ," she said, "she will drink this." Then she gestured to the vial.
Draven’s eyes widened.
"That," redith continued calmly, "is a poison."
His gaze snapped back to her. "redith—"
"One glass," she went on, unperturbed. "It won’t kill her imdiately. But it will bind her life to mine."
Draven stared at her, completely stunned.
"To survive," redith explained, "she will have to co to every single day. I will give her the antidote, enough to reverse the effects for twenty-four hours."
Realization dawned on him. If Xamira missed one day, or refused to return, or even tried to run away, she would die.
Draven looked at redith as if seeing her for the first ti.
The gentle woman who listened patiently. The woman who took pains to prepare for an event just to care for poor, exhausted pack won. The mate who once flinched at the thought of bloodshed.
She was still there, but now layered, hardened and sharpened by power and necessity.
redith smiled faintly. "With this plan," she said softly, "do you think she would ever dare betray ?"
Draven searched her face carefully—for glowing eyes, for signs of Valmora’s dominance. But there were none.
This was redith, fully present, fully aware. And terrifyingly composed.
Draven said nothing. There was nothing he could say—not when he knew the logic was sound, not when ti was short, and not when he had a eting to attend in less than an hour. So, he turned and walked out of the workstation.
Behind him, redith turned back to her herbs, her movents precise and unhurried as the poison continued to simr.
But only when she was sure that Draven’s footsteps faded completely, only when she was certain he had gone far enough, did she stop what she was doing.
Next, she turned off the gas beneath the simring pot, the soft hiss dying away, and then reached for the high stool beside her worktable. She climbed onto it and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the edge of the table, her body slackening for the first ti in a while.
A long, weary sigh escaped her.
"It certainly is not easy to be a villain," she murmured to herself, her voice low and wry. "Wanda must have it hard, scheming against and others... but I definitely have it worse right now, pretending to be one."
She sighed again, rubbing her temples.
redith knew Draven would misunderstand her. He already had. But that was acceptable. As long as no one underestimated her, as long as no one mistook softness for weakness, she could live with that distance for a short while, even from the man she loved.
Then her thoughts drifted back to Xamira’s bedroom. When Draven had suggested killing Xamira, she had known imdiately she couldn’t agree.
No matter what Xamira truly was, redith could not bring herself to consent to the death of the child she had grown attached to—the one she had laughed with, drawn with, worried over. She could not be part of that choice.
And poison?
She let out a faint, humourless breath. She didn’t have the heart for that either. Not truly. Not even to bind Xamira as a ssenger.
The truth was simple. She wasn’t brewing poison at all. What simred gently in the pot was dicine. A bitter one, yes. Strong. Intimidating in sll and colour. But dicine nonetheless.
The ’poison plan’ she had laid before Draven was a deliberate illusion—a blade made of shadow ant to frighten Xamira into submission, to ensure she never dared to betray her or test her boundaries.
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