The silence did not last long.
The gazebo had emptied. The linens still swayed gently in the breeze, and the cups remained—three porcelain vessels, delicate and gleaming under the lavender sky.
Selene shifted slightly on the divan, her shawl slipping from one shoulder. Her breath had grown shallow, her complexion turning pale. Theodore noticed it first—not in the way one notices a change in weather, but in the way one senses something is wrong before the world admits it.
The pain crept slowly... like vines with thorns around.
At first it was warmth across her palm.
Then a sting elevated into burning fire.
Her fingers twitched.
He leaned forward, concerned at the lack of response. "Selene?"
She didn't respond.
Her hand moved to her chest, slow and trembling. Her brows furrowed, grasping for air—in inexplicable pain.
Theodore finally stood. "Selene?" he called out
She gasped softly, as if the air had turned thick. Her eyes fluttered open—then closed shut.
He knelt beside her, panic rising like floodwater. "What's wrong? What hurts?"
She tried to speak, but her voice could barely be heard. "My skin... it burns."
He looked down.
Her hands—where she had touched the cup—were red. It was not flushed but inflamed. The skin along her palm and wrist had begun to blister, raw.
Theodore's breath caught.
He remembered the cup. The one Selene had touched, even briefly.
He had seen that glaze before—soft, iridescent, almost pearlescent. Undeniably beautiful, but dangerous.
Nickel oxide.
A compound used in certain ceramic glazes to achieve that shimmer. Harmless to most...but to someone with a nickel allergy, it was a slow poison. Then it clicked—that was the reason.
Selene had always been sensitive. He remembered the time she reacted to a necklace clasp, the rash that bloomed across her collarbone. She had told him once, in passing, "I can't wear anything with nickel. It makes my skin feel like it's burning."
He hadn't thought of it again.
Until now.
"Anna!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Get the physician. Now."
The maid, Anna, turned at the sound. "My lady?" The maid rushed in, startled by the urgency.
Selene couldn't speak. Her throat felt tight. Her vision blurred.
Then the pain surged. Sharp and unbearable, as if her skin had been set alight from within.
Theodore turned back to her, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch. "You're alright," he whispered. "You'll be alright."
Selene then collapsed in his arms.
"Get the physician," he barked. "Now!"
The maid ran like her life depended on it.
Theodore lifted Selene gently, cradling her against his chest. He carried her to the bed, laying her down with trembling hands. Her body trembled, her breathing unstable.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I've got you."
She couldn't respond.
Her eyes fluttered unfocused.
Her breathing grew erratic, and her body trembled.
The redness had spread to her forearms, creeping like fire beneath the skin.
He grabbed a basin, poured cool water into it, and soaked a cloth. He pressed it gently to her wrist, but she flinched.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice breaking. "I didn't know..."
She didn't answer...more like she couldn't.
Her eyes were glassy now, welling up with tears. Her lips parted.
Theodore felt helpless. Useless. Like every title he carried meant nothing in the face of this.
He had failed her.
Again.
He pressed a damp cloth to her skin, but the redness only spread. His mind raced.
---
The physician arrived minutes later, breathless and pale.
"She's reacting to something," he said, examining her hands. "This isn't ingestion—it's contact. Severe contact dermatitis. Possibly systemic."
"She didn't drink," Theodore said. "She touched the cup."
The physician nodded grimly. "Then it's the glaze. Some older porcelain uses nickel or cobalt compounds. If she's hypersensitive..."
"She is," Theodore said. "She always has been."
The physician began treatment—cool compresses, anti-inflammatory tinctures, and a mild sedative.
But Selene's body by this point was already in shock.
"She needs to rest," the physician said. "And she mustn't be exposed to anything else. Her immune system is reacting violently."
Theodore hadn't moved from her side.
The physician had left, but the scent of tinctures still lingered in the room—herbal and bitter. The basin of water sat untouched, its surface still—reflecting the flicker of candlelight like a shallow mirror.
He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer. His coat was still damp from the water he'd spilled earlier, and his hair clung to his forehead, uncombed.
He had seen her cry before. Seen her angry, even.
But he had never seen her like this.
She was so fragile... He knew it, and he had let it happen. Also, it seemed like no one else knew of her allergy—even the physician didn't know to what extent her hypersensitivity was.
Outside, the sky turned dark. Anna hovered near the doorway, uncertain whether to stay or leave. The annex had never felt so heavy, lit with urgency.
Selene lay still, her breath shallow, her skin bandaged and trembling.
Theodore didn't leave her side.
Selene stirred faintly, her fingers twitching beneath the bandages.
Theodore leaned closer. "I'm here," he whispered.
"You're burning up," he said, voice low. "But it's easing. The worst is over."
She didn't reply.
He reached for her hand, careful not to touch the bandaged skin. His fingers hovered, then rested lightly on the edge of the blanket.
Anna stepped forward. "Should I prepare something?"
Theodore shook his head. "No. Just... stay nearby." He knew familiarity was needed.
Anna nodded and slipped out quietly.
The room once again fell into silence.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The wisteria swayed violently—and petals scattered across the garden like discarded thoughts.
And somewhere in the estate, Alice Eugenia sat alone in her chamber, the taste of tea still lingering on her tongue—unaware that her game had gone too far.
She had played her hand.
But she hadn't expected this.
Or perhaps she knew? And didn't care.