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The quiet hum of the chamber was broken only by the subtle flickers of candlelight dancing across the walls.
Golden warmth clung to the carved stone and draped curtains, though it did little to ease the heaviness in the air.
The still figure on the bed remained unchanged, pale, unmoving, and deathly silent, like a fallen monarch entombed in silk.
Two women stood beside the bed, both dressed in crisp maid uniforms, the fabric neat but their expressions weighed with worry.
One held a small book and a quill, her fingers twitching slightly as if she wasn't sure whether to write or not.
The other sat on a cushioned stool near the bedside, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
The older maid copper-orange hair shimmered faintly in the candlelight, but her face had long since lost any color of ease.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the man who lay still, unmoving, beneath the embroidered blanket.
It was the second lady, younger and with sharp features framed by dark brown hair tied tightly back, who broke the silence again.
"Since when did you notice this?" she asked, voice low, cautious, as if afraid the very question might disturb the one who slept. "Was he sick before? Showing signs?"
The older lady shook her head slowly, lips parting with hesitation.
"No," she answered, then continued.
"Not that I could see. Then again, it's not like Master ever truly shows much of anything." Her voice held a tinge of conflicted fondness, and a deeper worry. "He was his usual self, cold, distant, always keeping things to himself. If something was wrong… he never gave even a hint."
The younger maid frowned, flipping a page in the book absently.
"And the butler? What did he say?"
"He told me… it just happened. No warning. No sign. He said he walked into Master's chambers that morning and found him like this." the older lady fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"And Sir Valen…" The older lady trailed off for a moment, then added, "he left immediately to inform the royals."
The younger woman looked toward the bed, then back at the older lady.
"You're telling me not even the butler knew anything?"
The older lady nodded solemnly.
"It seems that way."
Both women fell into silence again, the only sounds being the distant creak of wood as the estate settled into the night and the faint crackle of wax pooling at the base of a candlestick.
The younger maid stepped closer to the bed, gaze lowering.
"He looks like he's… not even here," she whispered. "Like his body's holding on, but the rest of him is far away."
The older lady didn't respond immediately.
She simply looked at the man lying before them, the master neither of them had ever seen defeated or rather never showed it, now appearing as though he teetered on the edge of life and death.
She spoke after a long pause, almost in a murmur.
"He's strong. I know he is. Whatever this is… it hasn't taken him yet."
The younger woman hesitated, then finally nodded, stepping back.
She didn't press further.
For now, all they could do was wait.
Wait, and hope that the man who lay there unmoving, would soon open his eyes.
The younger maid stood with arms crossed tightly across her chest, lips pressed in a thin, uncertain line.
Her gaze hovered over the man who lay still on the bed, noble and motionless, as if sleep had taken root far too deeply.
Then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, but sharp with suspicion.
"…Are you sure he isn't the one who did this to him?"
The question hit the air like a dagger flung into water, sudden, cutting, and instantly rippling into everything it touched.
The older lady head snapped toward her, wide-eyed.
Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, nearly frantic.
"You! Don't say that!"
She glanced toward the tall wooden door, half expecting someone to be lurking in the hallway, listening, waiting, judging.
Her voice trembled not with fear for herself, but for the girl who had carelessly breathed doubt into a room not meant to hear it.
"What if someone hears you?" she hissed, stepping closer, the urgency in her tone rising. "Do you even understand what you're saying? If word of that accusation gets out… you'd be placing your own life on the line. That's not something you toss around in conversation."
The younger lady flinched slightly at the intensity in her voice.
Her lips parted, then closed, before she exhaled a long, uneasy sigh.
"You're right," she admitted, her voice quieter now as she continued...
"But… it still feels wrong. I mean, don't you think it's a little too perfect? Master collapses without warning, no signs of illness, and the only other person around him just 'doesn't know' how it happened?" She looked toward the bed again, then back at the older lady. "It's… convenient."
The older lady features tightened.
She didn't answer right away.
Her fingers unconsciously fidgeted with the apron at her waist, as though searching for a safer version of the truth.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low, almost like she was afraid the room itself might twist her words.
"No. I never thought of that. Not once."
She turned her gaze back to the unmoving figure under the covers, her expression hardening, not with anger, but with conviction.
"He's loyal. To a fault," She said. "Everything he's done, the way he follows Master, the way he stands like his own shadow, always there but never in the way, he wouldn't… he wouldn't do this. Not him."
The younger lady eyes narrowed, not in defiance, but contemplation.
"You wouldn't know," she murmured. "No one ever does. That's why they say not to judge a book by its cover."
There was no bitterness in her tone, only the wary edge of someone who had seen too many masks worn too convincingly.
The room fell quiet again.
Neither woman moved, and the man in the bed offered no sign of hearing a word.