One Dark Destiny

Queen Rosalie Chapter 2 - Beltane

Prynn

Rosalie stares at the dark violet doors in front of her, golden engravings marking out flowery patterns. She is almost shaking, and her breath is sharp in her throat. She imagines that her cheeks must be bright red, despite the makeup that Pandora gave her. Her long black hair falls in curls over her shoulders, and a plait weaves its way down her back. She stands a little straighter. It is only one night. All she must do is show them that the Poisoner Queen is strong. That she is fearless. The serving girl next to her gives a signal and the doors are drawn open.
Rosalie swallows. She looks around the room, the Arrons and their guests staring intently at her. She grits her teeth, and steps into the dining hall. Her black heels on the stone floor is the only sound, each step echoes off the walls and the ceiling over and over, making Rosalie dizzy. When she reaches the bottom of the steps, she stops, her hands folded behind her back. Kalypso's smooth voice meets her.
"Queen Rosalie, are you hungry?"
Deep breaths. Keep your composure, Rosalie.
"I am ravenous."
Her voice is dry and cold, as she walks towards the seat at the head of the long table, adorned like a throne. All those hungry eyes, fixed on her. She slides into the chair. To her right is Kalypso, head high, pale grey eyes boring into Rosalie's. To her left is Pandora, her pearly locks elaborately styled, and her long violet dress hanging off her shoulders. She looks beautiful.
The table before Rosalie is set with many plates, each one undoubtedly dripping in poison. Several dishes of bright pink oleander-garnished potatoes, and a full pheasant stuffed with vegetables, roasted in hemlock and accompanied by a dark Wolfsbane dressing. Delicate cherry and Belladona truffles, topped with the pretty little berries.
Swallowing, Rosalie reaches for the dish of potatoes and picks one from the plate, struggling to keep her hand steady. The room is silent as she lifts it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing. The oleander has a vaguely sweet taste, and soon after, the poison kicks in, like liquid adrenaline pulsing through her body. The pain is mild and she hardly notices it. At the far end of her banquet table she sees two guests without Arron-white hair. The first, Adonis Milone, the tall, slim naturalist with grey streaks in her dark hair, Sofara Milone's sister, watches with a grim look on her face. And Marcellus Peryn, an influential Poisoner from the south side of Prynn, the Black Council's second representative, with mousy brown hair and a sly smile strapped to his face. Picking up the knife to her side, she slices into the pheasant, maroon purple dripping over its silver blade. She watches the Arrons carefully as she takes a piece of pheasant in her hand, holding it by the bone. She bites into the meat, sharp teeth tearing at soft flesh. The taste of hemlock is usually bitter and unpleasant, but Rosalie doesn't mind, as it compliments the pheasant well.  The poison pours into her bloodstream like acid, burning. She can feel it racing through her, and suddenly the nerves are gone, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of power. Rosalie chews off more, glancing around the table to see the reaction of the Arrons.
Dark violet slips from Rosalie's lips, dripping down the sides of her face. She smiles, seeing the expressions of her guests, and continues to stuff poisoned food into her mouth, feeling stronger with each bite. This must be the most poison she has had at once, Rosalie is certain, finally pausing to take a sip of her honey-yarrow wine.
She sits up straight and holds up her glass in cheers.
Everyone else follows, and Kalypso praises her. The other Arrons start to talk, and some to try the food. The two from the Black Council murmur quietly between themselves, and Marcellus sips his wine. The naturalist looks disgusted, warily eying the poisoned pheasant.
Rosalie smiles a little, and glances first to Kalypso, who is making talk with her brother, Calleyh Arron, and then to Pandora, who flashes her a sparkling smile and turns to Cousin Delphina. Rosalie sighs, feeling stronger than ever.

Two hours later, Rosalie sits in the drawing room with Kalypso, separated by a dark wood table.
"That was very impressive, Rosalie," Kalypso says, smiling thinly.
"Thank you," Rosalie replies, and she knows that it is true.
"I am certain that the Black Council will have a fine report to give of the Poisoner Queen. You are dismissed," Kalypso says decisively. Rosalie stands, straightening out her skirt.
"Oh, and Rosalie," Kalypso adds.
"I would like you to come into town with me tomorrow. Be sure to dress for it." Rosalie nods and leaves.

Thirty minutes later, Rosalie lies on her plum- colored bedcovers, staring at the ceiling. She slipped off the tight corseted dress a while ago, and instead wears a sleeveless nightgown, soft black silk reaching her shins. She is not cold, despite the Arron house being chilled at this time of year. In fact, her skin is heating up quickly. Rosalie knows a fever when she sees it, and she recognises the feeling in her body, the ache in her forehead. She clenches her bed sheets tighter in her hand, taking long, slow breaths. She figured there may be consequences for what she ate in the evening, ingesting that much Hemlock was not wise of her. Kalypso must have known it, but it matters little to her so long as nobody sees, and Rosalie puts on a good show. She grits her teeth and gets up. Sleeping was never an option anyway. She crosses the room to her herbs cabinet, drawing back the curtains on her way to see a glowing full moon through her window. The black sky is almost starless tonight, which only makes the moon shine brighter. Rosalie pulls open the door to the cabinet and searches the bottles, tracing labels with her finger in the darkness. The pale moonlight casts strange shadows on the floor behind her. She picks out several pots and a ceramic bowl. She places her ingredients on the window sill, carefully tipping in each herb. Dark inky Elderberries, Ginger, Catnip, dried Valerian. Water. She crushes them together in the bowl, the circular motion familiar and effortless. Mixing medicine - or poison - offers Rosalie peace in a way that nothing else in the Arron house can. Her cabinet may not be nearly as big as Kalypso's, but it has a wide range of her favourite herbs. Dark ceramic pots and glass jars filled to the brim with powerful cures and deadly toxins. Of course, Rosalie would never confuse the two.