Lyria's POV
"Did she take the tea?" I asked the maid standing in front of me. If Syria were here, she would have recognized the girl instantly.
"Yes, ma. I served the tea, and the most important thing is—she was not suspicious of it," the maid replied.
"Good. It is time for step two. Call the guard in," I ordered.
I was sure the drug would have taken effect on Syria by now. She would be sweating and trembling, her body reacting to the drug like a moth drawn to flame.
She would feel everything now: heat, hunger, desperation… but not control. That part, the drug had stolen. It was meant to humiliate. To ruin. To break her in the most primal way possible.
Like the way she ruined my plan by coming into this palace. I was meant to be the mate and queen of this family, pampered by all the brothers. But she ruined it.
The maid hesitated—her eyes flinching like she wanted to ask a question—but wisely shut her mouth and scampered off.
