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He raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "Anything else you require, princess?" He emphasizes the last word with a hint of jest, the Turkish word 'prenses' rolling off his tongue with an almost teasing lilt.
"A bit of tea, please," I reply, maintaining a professional demeanor despite the lightness in his tone. A moment of warmth fills the air between us, a subtle acknowledgment of our burgeoning camaraderie. “It helps to settle my stomach.”
Without missing a beat, Ahmet turns and commands one of his guards. The guard nods and quickly departs, soon returning with a tray bearing a steaming teapot and cups. The rich aroma of the tea fills the space, grounding me in the moment.
"Thank you,” I say, offering a small smile of gratitude as I take the tray. Ahmet nods in acknowledgment, his eyes lingering for a moment longer before he turns to leave.
Once Ahmet departs, the air shifts and I feel a sense of solitude enveloping me again. I'm alone now, surrounded by the oleanders' intoxicating presence. The stillness is comforting in some way. I set the tray down and pour myself a cup of tea, its warmth seeping into my hands.
I put down my cup and turn my attention to the oleanders, carefully selecting the most vibrant petals and avoiding the sap within.
I place the plucked petals into the cup of hot water I had set aside. The water, still steaming lightly, embraces the petals, coaxing out their essence. The liquid slowly begins to change color, adopting a subtle hue that mirrors the pale pink of the petals. I watch intently, noting the rate of infusion, the color change, and the gentle sway of the petals as they release their secrets into the water. This is not just a simple steeping process; it's an alchemy of sorts.
Once satisfied with the steeping, I set the cup aside and rise to my feet. With a few strides, I reach the door of my quarters and knock gently yet firmly enough to catch the attention of the two guards stationed outside. They are quick to respond, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"I'm in need of some company," I say, my voice light and inviting. Would you be so kind as to join me for a cup of tea?" Their stance is hesitating, a reluctance born of duty and protocol.
I offer them a warm, disarming smile. "Come now, you both deserve a few minutes off your feet. It's just tea, after all." My tone is sweet and charming, an innocent request laced with the subtle persuasion of someone who understands the art of conversation.
Their resistance wavers in the face of the charm of my request. It's not often that they encounter such a congenial invitation, especially in a place marked by strict routines and rigid hierarchy. With a shared glance, they silently agree, stepping inside my quarters.
I lead them back to where the tea is waiting, the aroma of the oleander infusion subtly perfuming the air. I gesture for them to sit as I take the teapot and begin to pour the tea into cups.
The guards watch, visibly relaxing as the formality of their position gives way to the simple, human act of sharing tea. They take their cups, their movements cautious but intrigued.
My heart races as the guards raise their cups. I remind myself to remain composed, my expression neutral, a mask of calm hospitality. I watch intently as they bring the cups to their lips, each taking a tentative sip. Inside, I'm a mess of nerves, but outwardly, I'm the picture of serenity.
The guards, initially cautious, gradually let their suspicion wane as they chat quietly in Turkish. Their conversation is casual, marked by the ease of long-standing comrades. I smile and nod along, pretending to be engrossed in their interaction, but my focus is razor-sharp on their every sip, every swallow.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, their expressions begin to change. A slight furrow of the brow, a subtle shift in posture. I observe these minute transformations with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The oleander, with its toxic beauty, is doing its work.
Minutes tick by, and the symptoms become more pronounced. The guards' conversation falters as they start to show signs of dizziness. Their heads tilt slightly as if struggling to maintain balance. Beads of sweat form on their foreheads, glistening under the room's soft light. I remain a silent bystander to their unfolding discomfort.
Their breathing becomes labored, each inhale seemingly more challenging than the last. I can see the confusion in their eyes, the dawning realization that something is amiss. They exchange worried glances, their words trailing off into incoherent mumbles.
Nausea hits them next, a visible pallor overtaking their features. One guard clutches his stomach, a grimace of pain etching across his face. The other's vision blurs, his eyes squinting and refocusing in a futile attempt to clear his sight.
I watch, my own breath held in suspense, as the full effect of the oleander infusion takes hold. The room spins around them, their world tilting into disarray. They try to stand, to call for help, but their bodies betray them. Strength drains from their limbs, leaving them weak and disoriented.
In a matter of moments, they collapse, one after the other, their bodies succumbing to the potent toxins of the tea. They lay motionless, their breathing shallow, a stark contrast to the lively banter that filled the room just minutes ago.
I stand up slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. A mix of relief and guilt washes over me. The plan, risky and dangerous, actually worked. The guards are incapacitated but alive. I had carefully measured the oleander, ensuring it would be enough to render them unconscious, not to take their lives.
I rummage through their belongings and find a gun. My hands tremble as I hold it, its weight foreign and intimidating. I know nothing about firearms, but having one gives me a sense of security. I also grab a set of heavy keys that jingle with the promise of freedom.
I dart out of the room, my heart pounding in my ears. The compound is a maze of corridors and closed doors, each turn a potential trap. I move swiftly, my eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. I'm overly cautious, aware that one wrong move could be my demise. Despite the confusion, I feel I'm making progress, a hopeful intuition guiding me through the web of uncertainty.
Then, suddenly, gunfire erupts, shattering the silence. My heart leaps to my throat. Angry shouts follow, echoing through the hallways. Fear grips me, freezing me in place. But as the initial shock fades, I realize the chaos isn't centered on me. Someone else is under attack.
I edge closer to the melee. The sound of gunfire grows louder and more intense. The shouts are in Turkish, angry and panicked. Someone is putting up a serious fight.
I clutch the gun tighter, my unfamiliarity with it a glaring vulnerability. I peek around corners; my progress is painstakingly slow compared to the rapid unfolding of events around me.
I press on, driven by the need to see to understand what's happening. Is it Damien? Has he finally found me and come to bring me home? The idea of him being here, risking everything, is both exhilarating and terrifying.
The sounds of the battle lead me on. Despite the danger, I forge on toward the chaos, toward the hope that Damien has finally arrived.
Chapter 31
