"You ate my wife's cure—strip her!" Damon barked. Hands moved before words finished; silk and lace were yanked as if a storm had passed through the room. "Stop! You can't—" Daria gasped, voice raw from panic and the taste of metal at the back of her mouth. "Her mouth is full of lies and stolen fruit," Mathilde said, breath soft, eyes bright with fake tears. "She stole from my tray. She swallowed what was meant to save me." "On whose authority?" a housemaid asked, glancing toward the dais where the Bergstrom seal hung like a blade. "On my authority," Damon said. He stepped down from the dais and the room tightened. "She will pay in blood if the fruit is gone. Strip her." "Lord Damon—" Franz Rizzo moved forward with slow courtesy. He folded his hands, smile practiced. "We must be thorough. If the fruit was consumed, the remedy might be circulating in her veins." "Then extract it," Damon said. "Take what you need." "Not so fast." A maid jerked at Daria's sleeve and found resistance. "She bites! Help—" "Let her be," Mathilde said, voice sweet. "It's worse if she resists. Tell them, master physician, what happens when a reservoir refuses to yield." Franz's smile sharpened. "There are ways to coax the blood. Gentle means first. If those fail, there are instruments." He ignored the maid and studied Daria like a ledger. "Her blood may hold the compound. If so, the fruit's essence