Chapter 2
Whispers in the Slums
Morning arrived hesitantly, sunlight diffusing through the high arched windows like pale wine through water. The palace walls gleamed as they always did — serene, cold, and suffocatingly quiet.
It had been three days since Laurine Samaniego opened her eyes in this world. Three days of nodding through servants' pity and courtiers' whispers, of learning to move in a body that remembered weakness even when her mind refused it. Three days of pretending to be Princess Amethyst Celestria Rosaire IV — the forgotten royal child, quietly fading beneath silks and secrets.
And still, she had no answer to the question that haunted her:Who wanted this princess dead?
Ana entered, balancing a tray of porcelain and steam. "Your Highness," she began, her voice cautious, "the royal physician insists you rest another day. Your body—"
"My body is fine," Laurine interrupted, sharper than intended. "What I need is air."
Ana hesitated. "Air?"
"Yes," Laurine said. "I've been lying here for days. I'm not a corpse."
The words slipped out, bitterly true.
Ana blanched, but Laurine was already standing, pulling her hair into a loose braid. The mirror reflected someone she still didn't recognize: a young woman with dark curls, porcelain skin, and violet eyes that gleamed faintly against the morning light. Eyes that once belonged to a legend — and a curse.
She slipped into a lavender gown, simple enough to pass unnoticed. "I'll be gone only a few hours," she said.
Ana wrung her hands. "At least take this." She pressed a small purse into Laurine's hands, eyes pleading. "And please, Your Highness… don't draw attention to yourself."
Laurine smiled faintly. "You worry too much."
But as she slipped through a side gate and into the biting air beyond the palace gardens, she knew Ana was right.
___________
The capital of Rosaire stretched before her like an organism in motion — breathing, aching, decaying.
Carriages thundered down the main road; vendors shouted over one another; the air smelled of smoke, sweat, and the faint sweetness of pastry. Children darted between horses, barefoot and laughing, their joy sharp against the city's hunger.
In the palace, silence was control. Out here, silence was survival.
She walked until the polished stone gave way to cracked cobblestone. A small wooden sign caught her eye.
Alchemia & Herbs.
The bell above the door chimed softly as she entered. The scent hit her like nostalgia: camphor, dried herbs, the faint sting of alcohol. Shelves groaned with labeled jars.
Sunroot, mandragora, silverleaf, bellwort.
An elderly man behind the counter looked up, his ink-stained fingers pausing mid-scroll. "A refined young lady alone in my shop?" His brow arched. "That's unusual."
"I'm studying medicine," Laurine replied quickly. "Or rather… healing."
He chuckled. "A scholar, then. What do you seek?"
"Antipyretics. Something for infection. And a mild sedative root."
He blinked, then smiled. "You know your herbs."
"I read a lot."
When he turned to pack the items, Laurine's gaze wandered. Her mind shifted into its old rhythm: observation, deduction, and intervention.
Population density is high. Poor sanitation. Stagnant water. High risk for vector-borne illness.If rebellion starts here, mortality rates will triple within a month.
The man handed her a small pouch. "Curious and bold," he said kindly. "Be careful, young lady. Knowledge draws eyes these days."
"Trouble doesn't frighten me," she murmured and stepped back into the sun.
__________
Outside, the city roared — merchants calling, hammers clanging, the air vibrating with life. Laurine tucked the herbs into her satchel and started toward the main road.
She froze when she heard shouting.
"Thief!"
The crowd parted. Two armored soldiers dragged a boy by the collar, his legs kicking uselessly. A loaf of bread lay trampled in the dust.
"I wasn't stealing!" the boy gasped. "I was gonna pay later! I swear!"
One soldier laughed and drove a boot into his ribs. The sound cracked like bone.
Laurine froze. Logic told her to walk away — she was already risking too much. But another voice, older and deeper, rose within her.
If you turn away now, you're not a doctor anymore.
Damn it! I definitely can't ignore an abused child now. With all my strength, I shouted at them.
"Hey!"
The soldiers froze because of my sudden shouting then turned.
Shit. Here goes nothing.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who knows you're overstepping," Laurine said, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, crisp, the tone she used in operating rooms. "He's a child, not a criminal."
"He's a thief."
"He's hungry," she snapped. "If hunger is treason, then half of your empire should be executed."
Their laughter faltered. Her accent was refined — noble, though not one they recognized. She sighed in relief, thanking that for once, this princess is the forgotten one. No one recognizes her.
She tossed a few silver coins into the dirt. "That should cover the bread. And your bruised pride."
After a tense pause, the soldiers muttered curses and backed away.
Laurine knelt beside the boy. "Are you all right?"
He flinched, wary eyes meeting hers — gray eyes, sharp and too old for ten years. "I'm fine. You shouldn't have helped me, miss. They'll remember your face."
"I've made worse people angry," she said softly. "What's your name?"
"Robert."
"Why did you steal?" she curiously asked the child.
"I didn't steal! I was gonna pay later if I found a job. It's for my mother!" the child angrily said,, tears were starting to form at the edge of his eyes.
"Then, Robert," she said, rising, "let's find something for your mother to eat that isn't stolen."
__________________________________
The alleys narrowed as they walked, sunlight swallowed by the looming rooftops. The smell of rot and smoke thickened.
When they reached the slums, the ground turned to packed mud. The air was heavy — unwashed bodies, sickness, despair. Laurine slowed.
"This is where you live?" she asked.
Robert nodded toward a small shack. "In there. Ma's sick."
Inside, the air was stale. A woman lay on a straw mat, skin gray with fever, breaths shallow. Laurine knelt beside her instinctively, fingers checking her pulse.
Temp: elevated. Pulse: thready. Respiration: labored.Diagnosis: infection, possible sepsis. Prognosis: fair, if treated immediately.
"How long has she been like this?"
"Three days," Robert said. "Pa tried to get medicine, but the guards took him away, saying that Pa didn't pay the taxes, they said."
Laurine bit back a curse.
From her pouch, she took out sunroot powder and mixed it with water. "This should help. Give her small sips every hour."
Robert watched, silent and wide-eyed. "You're a healer?"
"Something like that."
When she finished binding a wound on the woman's arm, the flush of fever had already softened.
"She'll recover," Laurine said. "Rest and water are the best medicine."
Robert nodded, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. "No one ever helps us. Not nobles. Not anyone."
She hesitated. "Do you hate them that much?"
He looked away. "They took my Pa. Said the King needed gold for war. But we're the ones starving."
The words settled in her chest like stones.
The rebellion doesn't start in palaces, she thought. It starts with hunger.
Laurine placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stay strong, Robert. Help your mother. That's enough for now."
He nodded, not understanding, but grateful nonetheless.
_______________________
By the time Laurine stepped back into the street, dusk was stretching its violet threads across the sky. The slums were quieter now — their whispers buried under the chill wind.
She adjusted her cloak and turned toward the palace.
At the corner of an alley, someone collided with her.
"Oh! pardon me—"
Herbs from her satchel were scattered across the dirt. She knelt quickly, gathering them, and froze as another hand reached down to help.
"It isn't safe for a young lady to be here after dark," a low voice said.
Laurine looked up.
A man stood before her, tall and broad-shouldered, his face half-hidden beneath a hood. But his eyes — cold steel-gray — held her still.
Something about him exuded quiet control. Not the idle dominance of nobles, but the discipline of a soldier.
"I'll be fine," she said. "I can handle myself."
His gaze flickered to her hands. "You're no commoner."
Her pulse spiked. "How can you tell?"
"Your hands," he said simply. "Too clean. And your voice — too steady."
She cursed herself inwardly.
"Please," she said quietly, "Don't tell anyone. I was only helping a sick woman."
He studied her for a moment. Then, wordlessly, handed her the last bundle of herbs. Their fingers brushed. His skin was warm, his movements deliberate.
"You have courage," he said. "But courage isn't the same as safety."
"I'll take my chances."
A faint smile ghosted his lips. "Then take this advice: go home. The city changes when the sun sets."
She tilted her head. "And who should I thank for the warning?"
He hesitated, seeming guarded. "Names are dangerous things to give freely."
"Then give me one anyway."
He paused. Then, softly: "Lucas. Call me Lucas."
Before she could reply, he stepped back, vanishing into the alley's shadow like smoke.
Laurine stood motionless for a heartbeat, the sound of his voice still vibrating through her chest.
"Lucas…" she whispered.
The name lingered.
She gathered her herbs and started back toward the palace, the night wind curling around her cloak.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that those gray eyes had seen straight through her, past the disguise, past the lies, into the truth she carried.
For the first time since awakening in this cursed kingdom, Laurine felt something shift... like the faintest stirring of fate rearranging its course.
The people's suffering.The Church's poison.The whispers of rebellion.And now, the man called Lucas.
The threads were beginning to weave together.And she, the doctor who had once believed in saving one life at a time, was about to learn