|| WATTPAD FEATURED STORY ||
|| WATTY'S 2018 SHORTLISTED ||
Zora was only a little girl when her mother raked out her left eye. A mauled princess, she is alive only because of her political marriage potential. In a world where misogyny reigns, there...
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Hemlock wasn't difficult to get her hands on. Zora slipped into the alchemist's chambers while the party still went strong, although a good distance away. He was already in bed, snoring away like a bear.
Ortam never locked his doors for reasons she never quite understood, but it didn't matter as it was to her advantage. The door creaked obnoxiously, but he never rose from his slumber.
Inaudibly, Zora crept across the room, the alchemist never leaving her line of sight. At one point, he snorted and turned over on his side so he faced the wall.
She reached the shelves housing his alchemical supplies. Sifting through the drawers on the "herb" side, she sniffed for the familiar, acrid odor of hemlock. Her fingers brushed against the tiny flowers; it was too dark to discern what color they were.
She could only hope they were what she needed. Shoving a handful into the small purse at her side, she was about to escape when Ortam bolted up.
"Who's there?" he demanded. Zora halted, feeling very much like a deer caught in torchlight. She thanked the stars for her negligence of a lantern. The room was nearly pitch dark. With a bit of luck, Ortam would still be adjusting to the darkness and would not see her.
As slowly as she could, Zora dropped to the floor, biting back a cry from the chill of the stones seeping into her palms. Her silk skirts were barely a whisper against the floor as she crawled toward the closed door.
To her utmost relief, the alchemist yawned upon seeing no intruder, and fell back under his covers. She waited a full five minutes until his breaths became even, and she knew sleep had snatched him away.
Zora dashed to the kitchens where the cooks were hurriedly preparing more food. They were so busy, they never noticed her entrance. Her first stop was the grinder, where she mashed the hemlock's white flowers into powder. She made sure she wore disposable gloves to avoid any internal liquids making contact with her skin.
It was challenging to find the kitchen maid who oversaw the wine supply, but Zora succeeded after irritating several cooks. They grumbled, pointed to a door, and returned to work.
The wine cellar they directed her too was dim and damp, not at all like the atmosphere she'd just been in. The girl leaned against a wine barrel, toying with the ends of her chocolate braids, her eyelids heavy with sleep. She wasn't even aware of Zora's entrance.
The princess scuttled to an area out of sight and adjusted a nozzle on the barrel so the sweet wine gushed out. After filling two cups, she rapidly sprinkled the powder into a glass. The maid was in deep slumber by the time Zora departed.
A lively, three beat waltz was being played, and there were numerous people dancing. Zora nearly spilled the wine twice, but at last, she came to the gargantuan throne.
