Eh, they must have decided to spike the drinks instead.

Meya swiveled around, arms akimbo, eyebrows knotted in bafflement. She herself had been sipping apple juice. Why was she still standing? And why had no-one warned her beforehand?

At any rate, I should probably be asleep as well.

Swift as her thought, Meya dropped her glass onto Zier, splattering the poor lad with its content, then flattened herself face-down on the cold stone, striving to keep her body as limp as possible.

A second later, footsteps approached from the hallway outside, then the double doors were thrown open. Meya prayed the crackles and sputters of the fireplace would be enough to mask the sound of her thundering heart.

The sound of metal-soled boots slapping on stone intensified as more and more pairs of feet joined the throng. It sounded like a crowd, about twenty or so pairs of feet. The congregation halted about three feet away from her.

"Trunt, have you given them the aconite?" A familiar cold voice rang in the silence.

Aconite? Meya froze in confusion. Aconite? The poison? What is that for?

She didn't have to wonder for long. Trunt the poison guy's voice spoke next,

"Done. Got one of 'em maids to put it in the stew."

The stew?

Meya couldn't believe what she had heard. Gillian had meant to kill everyone in the castle by spiking the food with aconite. Fortunately, her folk in the kitchen have found a way around it by putting everyone to sleep and delaying the food.

Dead or asleep, no-one would be able to hinder their search for the dowry anyway, so overall there was no harm done, but how could she ever trust Gillian now?

It was one thing to steal to feed your hungry family. It was entirely different to murder dozens of people doing so. This was insanity, utter insanity. What should she do now?

"The stew, you say?"

As Meya struggled to rein in her shivers of cold dread and horror, Gillian's ice-cold voice void of mercy answered Trunt's eager report. An excruciating silence fell as Trunt allowed some time to register the lack of food on the tables.

"Explain to me, Trunt, why they are all asleep when not a dish of food is in sight, and when I have ordered you to put aconite, not sleeping draught, into the food?" Gillian's voice was so soft and serene, it was chilling.

"I―I saw to it that she put it in, sire. I really did. I dunno how―" Trunt stammered.

"Then bring them here and squeeze the truth out of them! What are you waiting for? Go!"

At that final snarl, Trunt scampered back outside. Gillian turned and barked another command to his men,

"If it's not the scullery maids, then it's her. Where is Meya Hild? Find her!"

Meya steeled herself against the jolt of pure fear coursing through her body, praying to Freda for protection as the bandits scattered off and fussed about examining every guest. If they found out she was the only one still awake, of course they would assume she was behind this, even though she was also at a complete lost as to how it all came about.

A pair of boots lumbered over and halted by her. Warm air caressed her cheek as a rough hand turned her head up from the ground and brushed aside her golden locks. Perhaps, with all the beautifying, he wouldn't recognize her?

Meya held tight onto her only hope. That was, until the bandit lifted up her eyelid. Though it was too swift for him to notice Meya's startled eye focusing on him, it was more than enough,

"Green eyes. It's her." He muttered to himself, then hollered, "Over here, commander!"

Stupid, cursed eyes of doom! I swear, if I survive this, I don't care if I have to stick my head in a chamberpot filled with poo for three days, if that would dye my eyeballs freaking brown!

A heavy, eerie silence descended as twenty men gathered around her. The pressure and terror of twenty ogling pairs of eyes threatened to crush Meya flat.

"She faking, right?" One of them piped up. Another one prodded her waist with the tip of his boot. Meya tried her utmost to remain limp and unresponsive.

"Read her, Torbald." Gillian commanded. Before Meya could prepare herself for whatever was coming, Torbald had knelt down by her side and pulled up her eyelids.

Glowing green eyes stared into hers, both breaking contact only to blink. Unlike Gillian, Torbald's gaze was warm, and Meya willed her eyes to convey her honest plea to him. At long last, he released her from his scrutiny and raised his gaze to his leader,

"She knew nothing, sire." He reported, his voice firm. Gillian gave a nod of satisfaction and spun away to face the door, as Meya melted in relief. Torbald rested his rough, calloused hand on her shoulder.

"You stay asleep now, little lass." He whispered, then chuckled at the sight of her frown. "Wouldn't wanna blow our secret, eh?"

He added with a wink. Meya blinked, puzzled. What did he mean, their secret? And, come to think of it, one look in the eye, and they believed she wasn't involved, just like that?

Torbald did not answer, nor did he have the time to; footsteps echoed from outside, and he straightened up to receive their expected company.

Trunt reappeared at the door, stringing the reluctant Lady Arinel along with a tight grip on her arm. Meya's heart thundered once more as she closed her eyes. She had been cleared of all charges. Now she feared for her lady. Once the nearing footsteps had died down, she cracked one eye open a slit just to see what was going on, then shut it once more.

A panting Trunt stood in front of Jerald, Arinel, Gretella, and the other five guards and nine scullery maids. Facing Gillian, he gestured with his chin towards Arinel.

"'ere, sire. The maid I gave the bag to. If anyone's tamperin' it's gotta be 'er."

There was a brief pause that Meya guessed was Gillian taking a good look at the maid, broken by a sickening sound of gagging and sputtering which was unmistakably Gillian heaving Trunt off his feet by the collar.

"You fool! Of all the maids in that kitchen, you handed it to Lady Crosset?"

The head bandit roared in exasperation. Even under such dire circumstances, Meya was left stifling a roar of laughter. Poor Trunt. Arinel would have been the only one in that kitchen smart enough to recognize poison when she saw it. Not only that, she had also thwarted Gillian's massacre.

"Why does it matter who gets the draught and what is spiked, lowlife?" Arinel's cold voice usurped Trunt's intelligible whimpers. "The guests are asleep. As planned. Now go search the castle to your heart's fill. We shall head back to our posts."

A long, deafening silence followed. Meya chanced a second peek.

Gillian was glaring at Arinel, the muscles on his scarred, paper-white face taut and his dark-green eyes cold and calculating. Finally, his lips stretched to form a tight grin.

"No, Lady Crosset. I'm afraid I can no longer trust you not to interfere." His voice was as soft and serene as ever, but the menace mingled in it sent shivers running down Meya's spine.

Gretella pulled Arinel into her embrace. Sir Jerald stepped up to shield them both, tense with ominous premonition. Gillian's smile grew wider.

"And yes, my lady. It does matter greatly. As my plan had never been to leisurely scour the whole castle for the dowry. I had meant for Lord Hadrian to deliver it to me willingly."

Meya's strength flowed out of her and seeped away into the carpet at the numbing realization. Gillian had planned to hold all these people hostage, bargaining the antidote in exchange for The Axel. She had miscalculated his true motive, had trusted in his camaraderie, and had it not been for Arinel's intervention, she would have been responsible for all these innocent lives.

As she lay there, stiff and cold as a skeleton, Gillian's command echoed tinny and distorted,

"Lady Crosset. Meya Hild. Lord Zier. The Baron and Baroness. Tie them up. We're moving out."

Gillian strode for the door. The bandits dashed towards Arinel and Meya. Wrenched back to reality, she closed her eyes and played dead. As much as she longed to take action, she was powerless and overwhelmed. It was best for her comrades for her to let these heartless bandits believe she was still their ally.

"Lady! No! Lady!"

"Let go of me. Let go! Grandma!"

"Stop! You lowlife! Scum!"

Gretella and Arinel screamed. A bandit yanked Meya's arms behind her and looped twine around them. Jerald's voice joined the din of shrieking maids as the five Crosset guards unsheathed their swords, but nothing followed; outnumbered four to one, that was the farthest they could go.

Meya longed to do something, something to help, as it was her who had landed them all in this catastrophe. Yet, as always, when it truly mattered, she was at a complete loss for bright ideas. The shame, the guilt was such that she couldn't muster the will to wag a finger. The bandit tying her pulled her upright, and Arinel screamed the question ringing in her head,

"What in the three lands are you doing? Do you not want the antidote?"

All the chaos died. Meya sneaked a look and had to close her eye just as soon; Arinel was standing before her, panting, both arms locked by a bandit behind. She was glaring at the bandit who was holding Meya.

"Meya Hild is smart, but she knew too little of the world. And herself." The bandit spoke, his voice brimming with a smirk. Meya recognized him as Gillian's rat-faced second-in-command, Dockar. "There is only one poison to our kind."

Meya felt as if the ground had opened up below and swallowed her whole into abyss, as she recalled Gillian's mysterious smirk, back when she suggested the antidote swap.

It all made sense to her then. The reason she was unaffected by Arinel's sleeping draught.

They're all Greeneyes. Their bodies must have been different from normal people. The only poison that could kill them was Lattis. If aconite couldn't kill Greeneyes but could kill normal humans, then Lattis could protect normal humans while killing Greeneyes?

The dowry is The Axel. The Axel is made of Lattis. If The Axel is inside someone, it would protect him from poison? That's why Gillian poisoned everyone; whoever is holding The Axel would not be affected!

Gillian had kept his promise. He had meant to spare her and take her to join their kind, but the same could not be said for everyone else. The moment Meya made that pact was the moment she sentenced the deaths of all these people who had trusted in her.

There was nothing, nothing she could do, as Dockar's chilling last remarks rang loud and clear in her ears.

"But you needn't worry. Since Meya Hild honored her end of the deal, we'll uphold ours as well." For the first time, Dockar's voice was undercut with tension, and Meya realized he wasn't comfortable with Gillian's decision to rescue her.

"All you have to do is be a good little lady while we wait for Coris Hadrian to hand over what we came for, then we'll deliver the requiem for the whole Hadrian family in one fell swoop."