Father Amos had already finished tending to the king's wound and was now wrapping it gently in clean bandage. King Maeric held himself upright, jaw tight, enduring the sting without a sound.
"You must return to the cathedral at dusk," King Maeric said. "The princess needs you there."
"Your injury demands my attention more than she does," Father Amos replied.
"The three kingdoms need her in far better health than they need me. Right now, nothing is more important than finding Princess Genevive and preparing Princess Elowen for the rite."
Father Amos tied the bandage a little tighter, lifting his gaze.
"Do you think the princess will be ready when she discovers how serious your condition has become?"
"That is why we are keeping it from everyone, Her includes" the king said with a small, reassuring smile. He reached for his robe and slipped it on. As he made for the door, Father Amos spoke again.
"Is that why you refused the Relic of Varethin? Because the queen resides here?"
"Yes," King Maeric answered, pausing only briefly. "You know how the queen behaves. She'll use any information, twist it in any direction, so long as it benefits her. Especially now, that she is desperate."
He sighed. "Once she leaves, I will invite the Guardian Knight. But If he comes now, his presence will only draw attention, and that is acceptable… so long as the queen is not here to witness it. Because She would know exactly why he has come."
Father Amos exhaled, blinking slowly.
"I just hope you understand how grave your injury truly is. It will not heal kindly if you continue like this."
King Maeric paused at the door, lifted his chin with that gentle authority only he possessed, and replied.
"A king does not wait for wounds to mend when his kingdom bleeds."
And with that, he walked out.
---
At the Courtyard
King Maeric walked alongside Sire Aldric as they made their way toward the Hearthwing Hall, the section of the castle set aside for refugees.
When they arrived, they were met by a small crowd__elderly folk, young mothers clutching their children, exhausted faces turned toward the king. All eyes followed him, eyes full of fear, sadness, and pleading hope.
King Maeric exhaled softly and looked away, then turned to Sire Aldric and gestured for him to lead on. Sire Aldric bowed and guided him toward a narrow side-door close by. Both men had to bend slightly—their tall frames nearly brushing the wooden arch as they stepped inside.
Inside, they found the court physician standing over a man laid upon a tall table, the body covered with a white cloth, leaving only the face exposed. A dead man. And across from the physician stood Queen Isola.
The sight of her made the king hated for a brief moment. He had been summoned urgently about a matter concerning the kingdom… yet, as always, Queen Isola and her sharp instincts had somehow reached the information first.
"Queen Isola," he greeted. She turned, and they exchanged a slight bow.
"I see you are already here... earlier than I anticipated," King Maeric said, a faint hint of disappointment in his tone as he moved toward the physician, who bowed lightly.
"I heard whispers of trouble," Queen Isola replied with an elegant smile, "and I could hardly stroll past as though nothing had happened. Though… you sound almost disappointed to see me, Your Majesty."
"Why would I be? Two heads are better than one," the king replied smoothly. "Your wisdom and experience are an honor to have at my side, especially now." He offered her a polite, measured smile, then turned back to the physician.
"What am I hearing?" he asked. Then, looking at the dead man, he repeated more firmly, "What happened to him?"
The physician exhaled, lifting the man's head gently to the side.
"Here, Your Majesty, notice this."
A dark blotch stained the skin behind the ear.
He lowered the head again and loosened the man's shirt, revealing more shadowed patches on the torso.
"And here… these marks spread beneath the skin too."
Then he straighten and continue
"Your Majesty, these are the unmistakable signs of Black Rot Fever. The fever begins with fatigue, then the blackened spots spread across the skin. Soon after, the organs begin to fail… quietly."
King Maeric listened in still silence, eyes fixed on the body, absorbing every word.
"What could be the cause of this?" the king asked.
The physician let out a heavy breath. "I cannot say for certain, Your Majesty… but I suspect it came from something he consumed."
He pressed his palm lightly on the dead man's abdomen, the flesh sank unnaturally beneath his hand.
"All the stomach contents are… gone. Completely dissolved. Whatever entered his body ate through every living organism within him."
He straightened, shaking his head. "The only relief is that it is not airborne. Were it so, we would have casualties by the hour. This kind of infection spreads only through ingestion, meaning the cure will be easier to pinpoint and the people less likely to contract it through the air."
Silence settled over the room. The king stared at the lifeless face on the table, shoulders tightening under the weight of yet another crisis. They were already drowning in trouble__now this.
Just then, Queen Isola spoke.
"This reminds me of the plague that struck centuries ago, during the reign of King Haron of Eastmere. The symptoms sound nearly identical. And according to the old archives of High Seer Lurell, the plague spread from water drawn from the village well."
"We suspected as much," the physician replied, "so we tested the lower town wells. None showed signs of contamination. And these refugees__" he gestured at the door "shared the same food and water as this man. Yet he and few others is only affected."
The king stared toward the doorway, where the frightened people waited.
"Since we do not know the cause, we must prevent further spread," King Maeric said firmly.
He turned to the physician.
"Continue studying the body. Find everything you can. But before that, check the capital for any who show symptoms."
The physician bowed.
The king then faced Sire Aldric.
"Close the capital gates. Double the guard. No one enters without a full Check, skin, eyes, and breath. Anyone showing signs is to be separated at once."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Sire Aldric bowed and strode out swiftly.
The king glanced sideways and met Queen Isola's gaze. Her eyes held a knowing look, a silent confirmation of what he feared.
There was only one person whose power might unravel this sickness.
Princess Genevive.
But she was gone… vanished into a land none of them could reach.
Where could she be?
---
While the kingdom searched desperately for the one who could cure their dying land...
In a land far beyond the borders of the Three Kingdoms, hidden deep within a crumbling fortress, lay a solitary cell swallowed by darkness. Inside it sat a young woman with silver-white hair—Princess Genevive of Seliah.
She had been imprisoned for what seem like forever. No one had spoken to her since the day she was taken. No demands for ransom. No threats. No explanations. Not even a glimpse of the one who had ordered her capture. All she ever saw were the silent soldiers who answered to an unseen master—men who never met her eyes and carried out their duties with full precision.
They fed her once a day__twice, if whoever commanded them remembered she existed. Other times, she was left a full day without so much as a crust of bread. They never opened the iron door. They simply slid a tray through the barred gap at the bottom, as if she were some dangerous beast better left untouched
It felt less like imprisonment and more like being left to decay slowly.
For days Genevive had crafted plans, dozens of them. Every one ended in failure. The door was reinforced with runic seals. The walls were too thick to chip away. Even timing the guards was pointless, they moved like shadows, unpredictable and silent.
Now she had only one plan left.
A plan she had refused to consider at first.
A plan that felt reckless, desperate… and entirely beneath a princess of Seliah.
The one she never wanted to use.
But in this place, forgotten and fading… she had no choice.