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.

     Made of dazzling gold with gemstones imbued into it, the overly-glorified chair was blinding. Zora wasn't sure if it was because of its luster or its garishness. She glided to King Hurfother's side, trying to appear demure.

     "Your Royal Majesty, dearest Father," she cooed, gathering his attention. "I have some more wine for Gregori and you!"

     "Ergh? Wine?" he slurred, his words connecting so much, Zora had difficultly picking out what he said next. Pyter, clad in a tunic of royal blue, gave her a strange look. There were shadows cast over his eyes; no doubt from his obvious lack of sleep. Another jet of determination streamed through her. If her father and Gregori were dead, Etharia would have a better ruler.

     Gregori was more suspicious than his sire. He eyed the two chalices with distaste. "And since when has our little doll had the heart to do us favors?"

     Zora felt the flush of rage creep up her neck, but her tone remained even. "Your Highness, I was watching from afar and thought you may need a refill anytime soon."

     "Are you trying to get into our good graces? Just so you're aware, Father will kick you out if you don't have a husband."

     Zora lied through her teeth. "Oh, I forgot to mention! I think I've found a wonderful nobleman to whisk me away. You shan't have to worry about me for long. Isn't it great news?"

     "Et ers gerd nerws," garbled the King. Gregori shrugged in nonchalance.

     "At least it saves us a bit more money. Tell me, precious sestra, who is this man you speak of? I'd like to meet the person who'd take in an one-eyed abomination like you."

     Zora needed to put on a show; she must weave a false story to convince them she was harmless. "He's taking a break outside, getting some fresh hair. I believe he's a Marquess of Anweil."

     She could tell Gregori wasn't buying it. "And what does he look like? If I see him, I must congratulate him."

     Zora put on her best air-head façade. "Ah, he's simply the man of my dreams!" she squealed, sighing with false dreaminess. "He's exactly what I've pictured him to be. Anweil is south of Santica, so they experience summer the longest out of any kingdom.

     "His skin has the most gorgeous tan! Red hair so dark, just like wine from the finest vineyards. And don't get me started on his irises." She feigned fainting, sagging against an imaginary wall, an arm pressed against her forehead. "They're amb –"

     "Alright, alright, we get it," Gregori grouched. "Forget I even asked."

     The King growled, his face ruddier than before. "Just hand me the cup! Gregori, a toast to you, my heir."

     She more than willingly passed them the dark liquid. King Hurfother downed his share in a single cup, setting it down with a satisfied sigh. Gregori, after a reluctant sigh, drank his too.

     Zora slinked away and waited. And waited. Pyter had watched the entire exchange, but she knew he would keep tight lips about their deaths. The clock struck midnight, ringing twelve times. Zora stood by the chocolate fountain and let out a low laugh.

     Happy sixteenth, she thought to herself. Their deaths would be a fitting present indeed.

     When the King toppled off his throne, gagging and eyes bulging, she had a perfect line of sight. He rolled down the steps of the dais and landed with a thud at the Third Queen's slippers. She took one look at her dead husband and let out a shrill so deafening, she shattered the nearby chandeliers. Almost.

     Giddiness rose up within Zora, and had she not been in public, she would have danced until dawn broke. The King lay there, twitching uncontrollably as the poison coursed through his veins.

     Then the screaming began. Men and their wives dashed for the exits, shrieking, "the King has been murdered!"

     The entire room disintegrated into chaos. Chairs and tables were overturned and food spilt as everyone lost their nerves. The candles and torches flickered.

     "Silence!" a voice roared. It echoed, bouncing off the walls. All the blood drained from Zora's face. How...?

     Gregori stood on his throne, unrestricted ire in the curl of his lip. "Guards!" he shouted. "Bring the thirty-second princess to me!"

     Too late, she realized what she'd done. Numbly, she stared at her feet.

     She'd only poured hemlock into one glass.

     Tears blurred her surroundings. How could she have been so stupid? So close. So close to making a new life for herself.

     A burly guard gripped her upper arm, and the fight flooded back. "Dammit!" she screeched, stomping on his foot with her high heel. "Dammit, dammit, dammit! Unhand me!"

     His face twisted in pain, but he held strong. Another man wrenched her flailing feet out of the shoes, so she was left barefooted. They hauled her to Gregori. His arms were crossed, green orbs flaming. "You killed my Father, bitch!" he snarled, spittle flying and spattering against her cheek.

     Zora gazed boldly at him. "A pity I forgot about you," she sneered, launching her own spit bomb at him. It landed directly on his lip, and she could not avoid the slap that left her face on fire. He wrenched off her mask, baring her scars for the entire world to see, but she no longer cared.

     "Die, you ass." She laughed. It reverberated throughout the otherwise silent room. Gregori trembled with fury.

     "Take her to the dungeons. Don't fret, sweet sestra. I'll be sure to give you a fate much worse than Zhoya's."

DUN DUN DUN! how was it? I am seriously doing good with nanowrimo. this chapter was by far the longest so far! 1,400 words, yeah! and it was one of the most exciting too. did you expect that plot twist? like the new cover? I think it's a fresh change cx if you see mistakes, I apologize as I typed this up in about 2 hours...

Discussion Questions: What do you think Zora's fate will be? What may have happened had she remembered to poison BOTH glasses?