The light in the infirmary was cold. The Princess lay against crisp white sheets, her breath shallow but steady. A cool cloth rested against her forehead, the faint scent of crushed mint lingering in the air. Her right arm lay exposed as dark veins pulsed faintly like living ink, throbbing slowly with every beat of her heart. They trailed from her fingertips up to her elbow, coiling beneath the skin in jagged, unnatural patterns.
A pair of light gloves rustled.
"Try not to move your arm too much," a voice said.
The Princess turned her gaze towards the source. The woman standing beside her bed was… familiar – tall, willowy with jet-black hair drawn into a braid that hung over on shoulder. Her eyes were an unusual shade – storm-grey, rimmed in silver. She wore a fitted deep maroon healer's coat embroidered with small sigils that shimmered faintly.
Dr. Lysandra.
Her gloved hands moved with precision as she unwrapped the band of treated cloth covering the Princess' forearm. They seemed to recoil from the sudden exposure to light, pulsing faster before settling again.
"They're unstable," Lysandra murmured. "Whatever that artifact was, it left an imprint in your soul. Almost like… a memory trying to root itself where it doesn't belong."
The Princess frowned faintly. "Will it fade?"
"Perhaps," Lysandra said after a pause. "Or perhaps it will deepen. I'd advise against touching anything like that again." She glanced up. "You may not be aware, but those veins… they're still drawing from something."
For a moment, the Princess thought she saw the faintest flicker of concern on the woman's face before her expression smoothed again.
The treatment was efficient. When she was done, she stepped back, removing her gloves.
"You should rest," she said. "Even if your pride resists it."
The Princess almost smirked, but it faded quickly. "Thank you, doctor."
Lysandra inclined her head. "Summon me if the throbbing worsens."
And then, she was gone.
The quietness barely lasted a minute before the door opened again.
Renna entered first, and before her came Sir Ian.
Renna's gaze swept over the Princess in a way that seemed to measure her well-being beyond her physical state – a warmth in her eyes that no courtly etiquette could disguise. Ian's gaze, on the other hand, was sharper, protective in a way that felt as much as a soldier's instinct as it was… personal.
"Your Highness," Renna said softly, stepping to the bedside. "Are you–"
"What happened?" Ian cut in. "They told me you collapsed during the meeting. But I refuse to believe that was all."
The Princess looked between them, exhaling slowly. "It was… merely a small matter."
Ian's jaw tightened. "Small? You could've been–" He stopped himself, the words still burning in his eyes.
Renna's brow furrowed. "Sir Ian–"
"The generals…" Ian said, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Whether by intent or negligence, it doesn't matter. Someone–"
"It wasn't their fault," the Princess interrupted sharply. The firmness in her tone caught them both off guard. "I was not strong enough to withstand it. That is all."
"But–"
"I said that is all, Sir Ian."
Silence pressed between them for a moment. Ian stepped back, still visibly frustrated. Then, he said, "Please forgive me for my rudeness Your Highness. But… if you will not condemn them… then I will. You have my word. I will protect you from all dangers, no matter the source."
The Princess did not respond.
Renna's voice was calm, but firm. "Sir Ian, perhaps you should wait outside."
He hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but eventually nodded and stepped towards the door, his armor clinking with each step as the door shut behind him.
Renna waited till his footsteps faded before taking the chair beside the Princess. "He's only looking out," she said quietly.
The Princess only looked out the window as the rays of the dying sun faintly seeped into the infirmary.
"You don't have to tell me everything," Renna continued. "But at least tell me something. So I know how to help."
The Princess remained silent.
Renna's sigh was almost imperceptible. The Princess continued, "…It's already evening. We should head back to the castle."
"But–"
"The flaring has calmed down. I'm able to walk."
Renna couldn't refuse.
As Renna helped the Princess rise from the bed, the door opened once more. General Vanith stepped inside. His usual sternness was tempered as he inclined his head.
"I came only to apologize for my outburst earlier, Your Highness. My words were ill-timed. The kingdom needs its ruler strong, not burdened with quarrels. May you recover swiftly, for your sake, and for all of ours."
Without waiting for a reply, he bowed curtly and withdrew.
The Princess and Renna stood there for a while before finally stepping oiut into the hall. Sir Ian was already there, clashing with Vanith.
"Have you no shame, speaking to her so?" Ian growled.
Renna immediately cut in. "Sir Ian. Please. Stand down."
The Princess added quietly, "Please forgive him, General. His concerns sometimes overwhelm him."
Vanith's lips curled into a rare smile. "It is no fault to have those who care about you to stand at your side, Your Highness."
And with that, he departed down the corridor, his footsteps fading.
The three of them — Princess, Renna, and Ian — continued on in silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.
They walked slowly through the outer corridors of the infirmary. The sunlight was pale and filtered through the evening haze.
Servants passing along the way dipped their heads, but the Princess noticed the way their eyes lingered for a moment too long… and then darted away. Not out of respect, but because of doubt and fear.
Halfway across the hall, a young servant carrying a bucket of water stumbled, spilling the contents across the floor in front of her.
Renna's hand shot forward to grip the girl's arm before she could fall, while Ian, took a step towards her, ready to scold.
The Princess raised a hand. "Enough. It was an accident."
The girl bobbed a hurried curtsy and fled.
They continued until they reached the main staircase that descended into the lower courtyard. At the top, a pair of carved stone gargoyles crouched like watchful beasts.
The Princess paused there, leaning briefly against one of the cold stone fingers. The weakness still lingered in her limbs, though she did not show it.
Renna and Ian exchanged glances.
"We need to increase the guards around the Princess," Ian said. "The generals are clearly–"
"What she needs is rest, not more armored shadows breathing down her neck," Renna interrupted. "Protection doesn't mean smothering her."
"You think I'd smother her? I'm trying to ensure her safety–"
"You're trying to control the situation like it's a battlefield."
"Well it's no less than one!"
Their voices had risen, cutting through the evening air.
"That's enough," the Princess said.
Both fell silent instantly.
"I appreciate your concerns. But I'm not a child. Do not waste your energy arguing over me when there are greater concerns out there."
They both bowed their heads slightly, mumbling apologies.
The Princess pushed away from the gargoyle and descended the stairs. The carriage awaited at the base. She stepped inside first, followed by Renna, while Ian mounted his horse to ride alongside.
As the carriage wheels began to turn, the evening light shifted, and for the briefest moment, the gargoyle's eyes caught the sun in such a way that it seemed as if its eyes were shining.
The Princess sat in silence, her gaze fixed beyond the glass window where the rising moon hung pale and swollen against the early night. Its glow spilled across her face, softening the shadows under her eyes.
She remembered Sir Ian's words from before.
You look exactly like the moon. Luminous. Serene.
"You look paler than the moon, Your Highness," Renna murmured from across the carriage, her voice gentle but edged with worry.
The Princess didn't respond. Her eyes drifted instead to the polished carriage windows.
Her own reflection stared back.
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw someone else – the faintest trace of her father's face hovering behind her.
Her father… who had never ruled like kings in the old epics. He had a gentle hand with a constant warmth. A man who could stand unflinching before danger, yet set aside the crown to braid his daughter's hair. Who would make the vast palace feel like a home simply by being in it.
Always there. Always ready to bear her burdens before she even knew she carried them.
Her lips curved, though not into a smile. The sound that left her mouth wasn't quite a laugher, not quite a sob, but something bitter caught in between. She didn't cry. She had learned how to hold the tears in place, just behind her eyes, like a dam never meant to be broken.
The carriage drew to a steep slop at the castle gates. She stepped down without a word, her skirt whispering over the stone.
"I'll be just outside, if you need anything," Renna said quietly.
The Princess gave a brave nod and pushed open the doors to her chambers.
Inside, the air was still, the bed neatly made, the tall mirror along the far wall perfectly smooth. She caught her reflection again, but looked away, her gaze drawn to the window where a chair sat in the faint spill of moonlight - Calen's chair.
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at it, before the memories came.
That night…
He had walked into her room quietly, his usual smirk dimmed, his eyes carrying something heavy. He told her he was leaving because of something he couldn't explain yet. He promised that he'd return and explain everything to her.
She begged him not to go, her voice cracking despite her pride. But his decision was been final.
And then… an intimacy she had never expected – a kiss, without warning. It was quick and clumsy, but it carried something heavier – love. The briefest touch of his lips against hers. Before it could become anything more, he pulled away.
And then he was gone. He didn't look at her. He didn't stop. Without another word. Without turning back.
She stood at the door long after the sound of his steps had faded.
Now, the memory hollowed her from the inside. She sat heavily in the chair, her composure finally crumbling. A sob escaped her throat – raw and heavy.
A black tear traced its way down her cheek.
She wanted her parents back. She wanted Calen back. She wanted someone, anyone, to take the weight of this kingdom from her shoulders, just for a moment.
Her breathing shuddered. She stared upward, the moon's glow blurring through her tears.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.
Then, she dreamt.
A hall of mirrors stretching endlessly in all directions, each pane catching the glint of some faraway, shifting light. She walked, each step sinking into the strange floor beneath her, made of stalks of wheat. They crumbled to ash under her weight.
Whispers pressed in from all sides. They were too many to count, too soft to understand, yet each one clawed at her thoughts.
She stopped before a mirror that seemed different.
In it, a man sat slumped on the ground. His hair was matted, his clothes torn and stained. Blood streaked the side of his face, pooling beneath the hollow where his eye should've been. His breathing was shallow, but his head was tilted, just slightly, as though he could sense her.
The whispers grew louder and the mirrors around her began to tremble.
Cracks spread across the glass.
One by one, they shattered as sharp bursts of sound exploded through the hall, shards flying past her face in a glittering storm. The floor of wheat rotted away beneath her, turning to black ash.
She finally jolted awake, her heart pounding against her chest. Yet for her, it seemed as if the nightmare wasn't over yet. The same man stood beside her, his skinny face mere inches from hers and his one remaining eye reflecting her terror like a shattered mirror.