Voices continued somewhere above her. Eleana stepped forward, skirts rustling, and bowed low.
"Father, please, I beg you, I did not—"
The Emperor's gaze cut through her. "This is my order."
The temperature in his tone left no room to argue.
Eleana's teeth sank into her lower lip. She bowed her head until her hair hid her expression. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Inside, she was burning. Because of that useless bitch, she'd been humiliated in front of everyone. She would not let this go. 'Elara, count your days,' she thought darkly.
The Emperor turned away from her and glanced back toward the bed. His eyes narrowed. Elara hadn't moved since she'd fallen—no flinch at his raised voice, no response to the sentence just passed.
The girl who'd been on the floor moments ago now lay limp on the mattress, face nearly as white as the sheets, breaths so shallow they barely moved her ribs. For a man who measured everything, the sight was… off‑balance. He had flayed Eleana with words, summoned records, locked down a wing—and in all of that, he had not once let anyone examine the supposed invalid.
He turned to the physician still kneeling by the door. "Check the Fourth Princess," he said. "See what is wrong."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The man nearly dropped his case in his haste to reach the bedside. He took Elara's wrist first, fingers pressing against the inside where the pulse should sing. His brows drew together almost at once. After a few heartbeats he set her hand down gently and pulled a slender tube from his bag, fitting its buds into his ears. The cool circle of metal touched Elara's chest through the silk; he listened, expression darkening.
Too fast. Too thin. A bird's heart, not a human's.
Unsatisfied, he reached into an inner pocket and drew out a small, faceted gemstone set in a band of worked silver. It already glowed faintly. Holding his breath, he set it in the center of Elara's forehead. Pale light spread in a thin ring, pulsed once, then faded back into the stone.
He looked at it, then at her, then at the Emperor. His face had gone from anxious to openly alarmed. He slid to his knees.
"Reporting to Your Majesty," he said, voice careful, "the Fourth Princess's body is in an extremely weakened state. Her pulse is very thin, her heart energy unstable. The diagnostic stone confirms severe exhaustion and strain."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "You are saying her earlier collapse was because of this?"
"There is a high chance, Your Majesty." The physician bowed lower, forehead nearly touching the floor. "In such a condition, even a small surge in emotion—anger, fear, shock—could force her body to shut down. Any strong stimulation may cause her to faint again, or worse."
On the bed, Elara didn't move. Her breaths stayed ragged, her lashes still. Inside, her thoughts slotted the new data into place with cool precision. This body was even more fragile than she'd estimated. One miscalculated spike of adrenaline, and next time she wouldn't have to pretend at all.
The physician's words hung in the air like a diagnosis for the whole room, not just one girl.
Too weak.
Even small shocks could collapse her.
Any stronger emotion might be dangerous.
The Emperor's expression did not change much, but something in his gaze cooled further. His eyes slid once more over Elara's thin frame, the pallor of her skin, the faint tremor still running through her fingers even in "sleep."
"Has she always been like this?" he asked, without looking away.
The physician swallowed. "Princess Elara… Fourth Princess has always had a fragile constitution, Your Majesty," he said carefully. "But the current state is worse. If she is stressed, pushed, or frightened in this condition, it will only damage her further."
Eleana's hands clenched at her sides. 'Fragile?' In her memory, the Fourth Princess had been quiet, yes, withdrawn, yes—but hard to kill. Like a weed in a corner of the garden: you stepped on it, it sprang back. Had she really been 'this' weak all along—or was this some new trick, timed precisely with her own visit and the Emperor's arrival?
The Emperor finally turned his head toward his eldest daughter. His gaze was flat, unreadable, but colder than before.
"Remember this, Eleana Iulian," he said. He spoke her full name like a judgment. "Your sister's body cannot endure the games you play with others. Today it was a fall. Tomorrow it may be a funeral. Do you understand what a single death inside the inner palace would do to this kingdom's name?"
The question was rhetorical. The answer lived in every corner of the room. Ministers would whisper. Enemies would laugh. A Crown Princess who could not control her temper around sick blood would be as dangerous as any foreign blade.
Eleana bowed lower, fingers digging into her skirts. "…This daughter understands."
"Good." His tone suggested the opposite.
He looked back to the physician. "You will remain in this wing for the next month," he said. "Daily reports on her condition. Any change, you send word to me at once. If she collapses again, I will not ask twice whose negligence is to blame."
The physician pressed his forehead to the floor. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor's attention shifted to the doorway, where the fox‑eared Beast Knight still knelt, head bowed.
"You," he said.
Golden eyes lifted a fraction, just enough to show he'd heard. "This one awaits Your Majesty's command."
"From this moment," the Emperor said, "you and your unit answer directly to me. You will guard this palace—'Fourth Princess Elara's' palace. No knights placed here by anyone else will set foot past these doors without my written order."
A faint shock rippled through the kneeling lines of men. The beastmen's collars glimmered once in silent acknowledgment. Eleana's shoulders stiffened; for years, this wing had been quietly hers to arrange. Now, with one sentence, it wasn't.
"As you command," the Beast Knight said. His voice was steady, but his tail, low behind him, gave one brief, incredulous flick.