Chapter 10
The Healer's Oath Part I: The Threads of Poison
The frost clung to the edges of the Northern Wing like a ghost that refused to leave. The morning air bit against my skin as I stepped out of my chamber, my satchel secured across my shoulder and my purpose sharper than sleep could dull.
Ana followed behind me, clutching a small lamp. "Your Highness," she whispered, "the Queen's attendants are still making rounds in the lower corridors. If they see us—"
"Then we walk faster," I said, not slowing. "Truth has never been found in comfort."
We descended the spiral stair that led to the palace archives. Few nobles ever came here. The place was silent, its air thick with dust and secrets. The door was heavy and old, carved with symbols of the Divine Court. When I pushed it open, the scent of parchment and iron greeted us like the breath of forgotten time.
Shelves stretched high into darkness, lined with records of every law, decree, and ledger from the past century. Candles flickered faintly in the alcoves, their flames trembling as if they feared what I came to find.
I made my way through the aisles until the rows of ledgers gave way to a smaller section — Medical Archives of the Royal Physicians. I traced my fingers along the spines until one caught my eye: Year 1***–1*** — Reign of King Roderic Rosaire.
The years of my mother's life in the palace.
I pulled it down and laid it upon the table. The parchment inside had yellowed with age, but the ink still bled black, neat and cold. My fingers turned the pages carefully, scanning each entry. The records were written with clinical precision, void of emotion.
And then I saw it.
Lunara root — prescribed dosage, twice daily. Recommended for Lady Celestine Lysandra Valemont for treatment of chronic weakness.
My breath caught. I traced the name with trembling fingers. My mother's name. The handwriting was familiar — smooth, careful, and perfectly balanced. I had seen it before on official proclamations, sealed with the royal crest.
Authorized by Her Majesty Queen Isadora Blestaire Rosaire.Administered under divine sanction by the Court of Physicians.
A slow, heavy pulse throbbed behind my ears.
The same poison that had taken my mother had been wrapped in the language of faith. Blessing of Lunara, they called it. A sacred cure. A holy tonic.
A lie that killed in silence.
I turned the pages faster now, my eyes devouring every line. Near the end of the ledger, another notation appeared, smaller but written in the same hand.
Dosage continued under similar tonic for Her Highness Princess Amethyst Celestria Rosaire IV. Adjust proportion for age. Continue indefinitely.
My body went still.
Indefinitely.
All those years, every cup of medicine forced upon me by the royal healers, every prayer spoken over it, had been murder in ritual form.
I had been poisoned since the moment I was old enough to swallow.
Ana's soft gasp broke the silence. "Princess… are you saying—"
"I am saying," I said quietly, closing the book, "that my mother was never sick. Neither was I."
She covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Then the Queen—"
I raised my hand to stop her. "No names. Not yet."
The word Queen was heavier than truth itself in this palace. Speaking it was to draw a blade across one's own throat.
I turned to a smaller shelf, searching for corroboration. Stacked at the bottom were sealed vials, each labeled with old script: Preserved samples — medicinal infusions, Year 1***. My pulse quickened. I found one marked Lunara Compound: Sanctified Series.
The vial shimmered faintly, its liquid pale blue beneath the dust. I held it up to the light and saw the same silver glint that had poisoned the lilies.
The same signature of death.
Ana's voice trembled. "Your Highness, we should leave. If anyone finds you here—"
"Then let them find me with the truth in my hands." I wrapped the vial in cloth and tucked it into my satchel. "If I am to survive, I must understand the weapon they used against me."
When we left the archives, dawn had begun to bleed across the horizon. The hallways were alive with movement — servants sweeping, guards changing shifts, the faint music of bells from the chapel tower.
But the air felt heavier now. I could almost sense the eyes behind the walls the watchers who waited to see how far I would walk before I fell.
Back in my chamber, I placed the vial on my desk and began to write.
Findings: Lunara compound used in repeated medicinal doses. Effects cumulative. Symptoms mimic frailty. Intent appears deliberate.
Connection established: Lady Celestine Valemont — cause of death identical to ongoing dosage given to Princess Amethyst.
Source authorization: Queen Isadora Blestaire Rosaire.
I stopped there, staring at the words until the ink bled slightly at the edges. My breath steadied.
So this was the truth they buried beneath prayers and ceremony.
I remembered the Queen's serene face at the council chamber — the soft curve of her lips, the gentleness of her voice. The calm of a woman who could murder without lifting a blade.
They had called her the Radiant Queen. But even the sun can burn.
Ana returned with a tray of tea. She set it down wordlessly, her hands trembling. "Your Highness, please eat something. You have not rested since last night."
"I cannot rest," I said softly, "not when her shadow still poisons what remains of my mother."
She hesitated, her gaze falling to the vial. "What will you do now?"
"Prove it," I said. "Not through accusation, but evidence. I will find every physician who signed these ledgers and make them confess what they brewed."
She swallowed hard. "That is dangerous."
"Everything worth doing in this palace is dangerous," I murmured.
I poured the tea but did not drink it. My eyes wandered toward the balcony, where the frost still clung to the garden below. The lilies glimmered faintly in the distance — fragile and poisoned, yet still standing.
For a moment, I thought I saw something beyond them. A shadow at the far edge of the courtyard. Tall, motionless, almost human in form. But when I blinked, it was gone.
Perhaps it was only my exhaustion. Or perhaps the palace had finally begun to watch me as intently as I watched it.
By midmorning, as I recorded my findings, a knock sounded at the door.
Ana opened it to find a palace guard carrying a silver tray. "A letter for Her Highness," he said, bowing. "It came from the west courier at sunrise. No sender's mark."
"No mark?" I asked, frowning.
The guard shook his head. "Only this, Your Highness."
He handed me the folded parchment. As the light struck the wax, I saw the faint outline of a crest pressed into it, a hawk's wing wrapped around a sword.
I froze. The emblem of House Valleria.
My pulse slowed, heavy and deliberate. I dismissed the guard and waited until the door shut behind him. Then I broke the seal.
The handwriting inside was crisp and deliberate, the strokes of a disciplined man.
Your methods in the north wing have reached the ears of many. Some call them miracles. Others call them threats.
You saved lives, Princess, and in doing so, drew eyes you may not wish to meet.
If curiosity drives you further, then tread carefully.
— A Friend of the Crown.
I read the words again and again. There was no signature, but I knew the tone. The precision of the letters, the restraint of the phrasing, it belonged to someone trained to speak in command and conceal meaning.
Lucien Devereux Valleria.
The Duke of Valleria, commander of the border armies, was the man whom the King both trusted and feared. My betrothed, at least in title.
We had never met. In the book, he had barely looked at her. At me. To him, I was a symbol, an unwanted link to a corrupt throne. And yet here, his attention had already found me.
Was it suspicion? Or something else?
Ana watched as I folded the letter and set it beside the vial. "Who was it from, Your Highness?"
I forced a small smile. "Someone who sees more than they say."
Her brow furrowed. "Should I be worried?"
"Not yet," I murmured, though my voice wavered slightly. "Worry when they stop watching. Silence in this palace is more dangerous than scrutiny."
I looked back at the letter — the ink still glistening faintly.
If curiosity drives you further, then tread carefully.
I traced the words with my fingertip, the corners of my lips curving faintly. "I wonder," I whispered to myself, "how carefully he treads."
The candlelight flickered as if in answer.
And somewhere beyond the frost-streaked glass, a shadow shifted in the distance, unseen, but not far.