Chapter 8
The Fevered Wing (Part II)
The following day, the fever broke in most of the afflicted. The physician court, once a pit of panic and noise, fell into a strained silence. The smell of boiled herbs and sweat hung in the air. Men who had shouted orders all morning now spoke in low tones. The physicians moved around me with careful steps, their robes brushing against the stone floor like the sound of surrender.
Geroth stood apart, arms crossed, his face unreadable. I felt both admiration and resentment in the glances that followed me. The air was thick with something that was neither gratitude nor hatred, but both.
At last, Geroth stepped forward. His voice came quieter than usual. "Your Highness. The supplier you mentioned… the contaminated jars came from the royal apothecary itself. We tested them. You were right."
"So the rot begins within the palace," I said.
He hesitated, jaw tight. "You have done well today."
That was as close to an apology as he would ever give. I inclined my head slightly. "The servants live. That is enough."
When I left the physician's court, the corridors glowed with the shining sunlight. The scent of smoke and medicine followed me like a memory. Ana met me outside, pale with exhaustion, her hair sticking to her temples.
Before either of us could speak, a messenger hurried toward us and bowed low. "Your Highness. His Majesty the King summons you to the Hall of Councils. At once."
Ana's eyes widened. "Now? But—"
"Kings do not wait," I said quietly. "And neither do their judgments."
I walked with Ana through the long hallways. My gown still carried stains of herbs and fever, the hem wrinkled from kneeling on stone. I had no time to change. The palace maids who passed us whispered behind their hands, their glances darting like birds.
A young attendant crossed our path and stopped when he saw me. He bowed low, his voice breathless. "Princess, the children in the western wing send their thanks. They sleep tonight."
"Tell them to drink water with sugar from pomegranate," I said, smiling faintly. "Three handfuls. It will keep their fevers down."
The boy nodded, eyes wide, and ran off as though I had handed him treasure.
Ana's voice came quietly beside me. "You wear your work like armor."
"It is the only armor I have," I said.
The Hall of Councils towered like judgment itself. The pillars caught the glowing light of the morning and threw it against the marble floor in long golden lines. Every step I took echoed through the chamber, a sound that announced my arrival long before I reached the throne.
King Roderic Rosaire sat in his gilded chair, his face hard as carved stone. His hair gleamed faintly under the torchlight, silver threaded through the dark. His eyes, once storm blue, now seemed tired and cold.
Beside him sat Queen Isadora Blestaire Rosaire, still as marble, her beauty sharpened by disdain. Her expression held a poised serenity that only thinly covered contempt. It was the kind of power that killed slowly, not by strike but by silence.
At her side stood Lady Anaya, her crimson gown shimmering like spilled wine. Her lips curved in polite cruelty when she saw me, her gaze sliding from my wrinkled gown to my stained hands.
I bowed deeply. "Your Majesties."
The King's voice cut through the air, calm but edged. "Word reaches me that you took control of the physician court yesterday without my leave."
"I acted where inaction killed," I said. "Had I waited for permission, there would have been bodies instead of recoveries."
He leaned back. "You forget your station. You are not a physician. You are a princess."
"Then I shall act as one," I replied. "A princess who protects her people."
A murmur rippled through the gathered councilmen. The King's eyes darkened. "You accuse my court of incompetence?"
"No, Father," I said quietly. "I accuse it of ignorance."
Silence followed. Even the torches seemed to hold their breath. For a moment, the King only stared at me, as if seeing someone he did not recognize. Perhaps he had expected the timid, coughing child they once paraded in pity. But that girl was gone.
The silence broke with laughter — bright, delicate, and poisonous.
Anaya stepped forward, the gems on her gown catching the light. "Sister, surely you do not mean to lecture the royal physicians? You, who nearly died from your own frailty?"
I met her gaze and did not look away. "Perhaps surviving what others intended to kill me has its advantages."
Her smile faltered, barely, but I saw it. The smallest crack. The one who told me she hated to lose.
The King sighed, rubbing his temple. "Enough. You will stop this behavior. You cause unrest among my physicians. From this day forward, you will not enter the physician court without my command."
I bowed, though the air in my chest burned like iron. "As you command, Father."
"You are dismissed."
I turned to leave. Anaya's voice followed, smooth as silk and sharp as a blade. "Be careful, dear sister. You might heal others so well that someone forgets you were ever broken."
I did not turn around. "And you might poison others so well that no one remembers who began it."
The chamber fell silent. Even the King did not speak. The Queen's lips pressed thin, her gaze slicing toward me with quiet fury. I walked away before any could recover.
That night, the Northern Wing was quiet. I stood by my balcony and looked out at the city. The moon hung low, pale and watchful. Below, the palace lights flickered like dying stars over the gardens of lilies.
Ana entered quietly, draping a shawl around my shoulders. "You should not have spoken that way," she whispered. "They will find ways to punish you."
"I know," I said. My voice was steady, not defiant. "But truth does not need permission."
The night carried a faint bell from the city. It sounded like a warning. Or perhaps like the beginning of change.
I touched the edge of the balcony rail and whispered into the dark. "If they fear knowledge, I will give them reason to fear it. If they silence healers, I will make the silence louder than their sermons."
This kingdom's sickness ran deeper than any fever.And I — the princess they tried to drown — would be its cure.
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Far from the palace, beyond its white walls and polished courtyards, a carriage rolled through the fog that cloaked the capital. Rain fell in thin sheets, tracing the glass windows in silver threads. Inside, a man sat still, gloved fingers resting against the pane.
"Another incident at the palace," murmured the aide opposite him, breaking the quiet. He unfolded a parchment sealed with wax. "Servants taken ill, physicians in disarray... but it seems the Fourth Princess intervened. Saved them all."
The man did not answer. His gaze lingered on the faint glow of the palace towers, just visible through the mist.
"They say she identified the poison," the aide continued. "Lead in the herbs. She exposed the source herself."
At last, the man spoke. His tone was low, measured, and calm. "Lead poisoning," he said. "That is knowledge no ordinary physician of Rosaire should have."
"Some call it a miracle, Your Grace," the aide said. "Others call it defiance."
Lucien Devereux Valleria's lips curved slightly, not in amusement but in reflection. "A princess who heals, questions authority, and defies her king. That is not a miracle."
He turned his gaze toward the crimson crest embroidered on the carriage curtain — the sigil of his house, a flame against velvet.
"That," he murmured, "is danger dressed in royal silk."
The carriage wheels splashed through the rain and disappeared into the fog.
And somewhere within the marble walls of the palace, Amethyst Celestria Rosaire stood at her balcony, unaware that the echo of her defiance had reached the man destined to either destroy her or stand beside her when the empire burned.
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In the Queen's private chambers, light burned late. The Sanctum lamps cast gold against the stained glass and painted her reflection across the floor.
Isadora Blestaire Rosaire stood before her mirror, hands resting lightly on the marble table. The reflection that stared back at her was perfect, untouched by age, but her eyes betrayed the quiet rage of a woman who had not been obeyed.
"She shamed your court," murmured Lady Anaya from beside her, voice low.
The Queen's painted lips curved into a patient smile. "No. She revealed herself. And now, I will know how deep her mother's poison runs."
She lifted a vial from her dresser — clear as water, faintly shimmering. "Send this to the greenhouse," she said softly. "Have it poured into the lily beds by the Northern Wing. I want to see if the princess tends her garden as faithfully as her patients."
Anaya hesitated only a second before bowing.
The Queen's gaze lingered on her reflection once more, eyes cold and serene. "She thinks herself her mother's heir. Let her learn what became of her mother first."
Outside, the rain thinned to mist.In the Northern Wing, the lilies swayed in the wind — still white, still pure.By dawn, their edges would turn silver-gray.