The chambers was thick with the fragrance of burning herbs, bitter roots smouldering in bronze bowls until their smile curled into the air and clung to the walls. It was the kind of scent that suffocated more than it healed. The royal physician moved in silence, his long sleeves trailing as he set down his pestle and leaned over the still form on the bed.
Havynlee lay motionless, her lashes pressed like dark feathers against her pale cheeks, her lips parted but soundless. Her body, once trembling, had gone utterly still.
The physician pressed his fingers to her wrist, seeking the delicate thread of pulse. His brows furrowed. He waited, pressed deep, and then changed to the other hand. Still nothing.
The silence in the chamber deepened, heavy as stone. Only the faint crackle of herbs on the brazier and the scratching of an assistant grinding roots in the mortar could be heard.
King Alaric hovered close, his eyes glistening with a pain he tried – and failed – to hide. Iridessa stood straighter, her lips pursed tightly, but her gaze gleamed as though victory, not grief, pressed against her chest. Beside her, Ivy shifted on her toes, eyes lowered but glittering with the same hope.
At the foot of the bed stood Morven, his jaw stiff, his fingers tightening. His face wore the thoughts of a worried fiancé, but his thoughts betrayed him. Why now? Why faint, why fall unconscious, on the eve of our engagement?
Camilla's eyes were cool pools of disdain, her silk-clad hands folded neatly before her as if she were attending a trival matter, rather than watching a girl's life slip away. Fainting now, of all times? She thought bitterly. What ill omen she drags with her cursed blood. A maid's daughter brings nothing but ruin.
But not all hearts in the chambers were made of stone. Lia, trembling, gripped the edge of the bed with whitened knuckle, her tears falling unchecked, as she whispered Princess Havynlee's name over and over. The red-haired maid beside her clasped Havynlee's limp hand, pressing it desperately to her cheek as though warmth might return if she begged enough.....Though she was new to the palace, and had only served the princess once in the garden, she barely knew her, yet an unshakable connection made her heart ache at the sight of the princess lying so still.
The physician shifted, frustration creeping into his usually steady movements. Again, he pressed Havynlee's wrist. Again, he moved to her neck, his fingers trembling against her pale skin. At last, he lifted a polished silver mirror from his case and held it to her lips. He waited, counted the breaths – one, two, three. The mirror came away clear.
"There is no sickness. No poison. No wound. Her body is whole….."
The royal physician muttered more to himself than to anyone else, but everyone in the chamber heard every word.
His shoulders sagged. The chamber held its breath. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and heavy.
"Your highness….she is gone."
Gasps rippled. Iridessa's eyes widened, though a glimmer of satisfaction danced behind the performance of shock. Ivy clutched at her skirts, whispering Havynlee's name as though the sound of it hurt her tongue. Camilla did not flinch, only turned her gaze aside with regal contempt.
King Alaric staggered back a step, pressing a hand to his brow as if the weight of the crown had suddenly grown unbearable. His lips parted, but no sound came – only the shimmer of tears betrayed his anguish.
Morgen stepped forward, his voice sharp, almost accusing. "She cannot be! Not now – our engagement is tomorrow. She cannot –" His words cut off, swallowed by the silence.
But Lia fell to her knees beside the bed, weeping openly, her tears sticking into the blanket. "No….no, my lady, you cannot leave us."
Yet Havynlee heard none of it.
For her, there was only the deep weight of silence. Darkness coiled around her like water, swallowing sounds, swallowing breaths. Her body felt far away. Left behind, while she drifted through an endless void. The voices of the living faded, replaced by the faint murmur of whispers, soft and distant, like chorus of dead.
Her limbs felt weightless. Her heart no longer beat.
———————
Back in the quiet of the emperor's chambers, the night air hung heavy, pressing against the walls like it carried its own secrets. He moved with ruthless precision, a predator in control, yet tonight, something felt wrong.
The maid below him moaned softly, pleading, "my emperor….. please..." but he did not listen. Her turned her, using her body with an intensity that left her trembling.
Her hands clutched at his shoulder, but he shoved them aside as though her touch was filth.
Women has always been tools to him, disposable and unworthy – he had never kissed a woman, his mouth never stayed lower. It never would. The thought of tasting a woman between her thighs disgusted him; they were all dirty in his eyes, unworthy of such devotion. He would desecrate their bodies, but never humble himself for that intimacy. Not for a maid. Not for a noble's daughter. Not for anyone.
Halfway through, his chest tightened. Not from lust – never lust – but something colder, sharper, like a shadow gripping her ribs. His face faltered. His mind blanked. The room seemed to still, the maid's moans muffled to nothing. For the first time in the centuries, unease prickled beneath his skin, an unfamiliar tension that made him harsher, more brutal, but hollow in a way he did not understand.
The maid whipped beneath him, arching. "My lord –"
"Enough." His voice low and commanding.
He withdrew sharply, breathing harsh. The hunger in his body evaporated, replaced with something heavier.
"Get out," he said coldly, not sparing her a glance. His voice was like blade – final, cutting.
Confused and relieved, she stared at her shredded clothes that lay scattered, useless. If she lingered, she knew what would follow: another round of merciless use – maybe worse.
He turned his head slightly, not fully facing her, the dismissal in the gesture heavier than any words.
The maid scrambled to gather herself, her clothes scattered across the floor. She wrapped what she could and bolted from the room, not daring to look back. The Emperor remained where he was, staring at her shadows, unaware of the strange pull within him that had made tonight different.
He dragged a hand through his raven-black hair – his jaw tightening. His pulse was erratic. His instincts screamed – something had shifted in the world tonight. Something that did not belong.
And he hated it.
Hey y'all ❤️ It's been a few weeks since my last update….life threw me some challenges, but I've poured everything into this chapter. The story takes a darker, more intense turn. 🔥