"No, let me be," Aurelia whispered, her voice frayed as she tried to push herself up from the bed. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, the floor swaying as if it meant to throw her down. Step by step she staggered toward the mirror, her hair clinging damp to her temples, her breath shallow and uneven.
Her reflection blurred before her eyes, pale skin washed in the dim light, shadows carving hollows into her cheeks. She reached out as if to steady herself on the glass, but her knees buckled.
Fira darted forward, arms catching her before she collapsed. "My lady—" she gasped, holding her firmly.
Aurelia leaned heavily into her maid's grasp, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.
"We'll leave now," Fira said with quiet resolve. She pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it over Aurelia's shoulders, drawing it close to shield her from the draft that seeped through the chamber.
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In The Valetudinarium
"Just a little of the soup every day and she'll be all right," the nurse murmured, passing a rough wooden bowl toward Aurelia's pale hands.
Aurelia lifted it, the steam curling warm against her trembling fingers. The broth smelled of roasted herbs and something faintly sweet — comfort masquerading as medicine. She brought the rim to her lips, hungry enough to swallow the world.
"Stop!" Fira snapped, voice sharp as flint. She slipped between Aurelia and the bowl before anyone could object. "It must be tasted first."
A hush fell. From the doorway, the royal taster stepped forward, a thin man with hollow cheeks and hands that never quite stopped trembling. He bowed once, then accepted the spoon Fira offered as if it were a blade. His knuckles whitened around the handle.
"I may die," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "My cousin… he's a taster too, he died yesterday." The memory trembled in his voice.
He brought the spoon to his lips with a ceremony born of both duty and terror. For a long heartbeat, the room held its breath. Then he swallowed.
His face stayed slack for a breath, searching the air for poison that wasn't there. Relief uncoiled in him like a slow exhale. He set the spoon down with hands a little steadier and managed a small, desolate smile.
"It's safe," he said, and the word landed like an anchor. Fira let out the breath she'd been holding; the nurse relaxed; Aurelia sipped, and the warm broth slid down her throat like a fragile truce with the world.
The storm outside had broken its weight against the palace. Rain hammered the stone courtyards, spilling through the high arches in thin streams. The valetudinarium smelled of damp linen and boiled herbs, its air cold enough that Aurelia's breath trembled faintly as she lifted the soup bowl closer to her lips.
Then the noise came. Heavy boots in the corridor, a chorus of voices. Laughter, curses, victory worn like armour.
"How come the humans fought us? This hardly happens," Kaelen's voice thundered, sharp and alive.
"I heard their swords are made of silver," another spat.
Kaelen laughed low. "Those useless, stupid, pathetic creatures."
The words struck Aurelia harder than the pain in her skull. She gripped the bowl tighter, the broth sloshing against the rim, her jaw clenched until it ached. She pressed her lips together, swallowing back the surge of anger that wanted to rise.
The doors burst wide.
Kaelen entered like the storm itself, water dripping from his blond hair in rivulets down his face, soaking the black tunic that clung to his chest and arms. His shoulder bore a faint wound, half-bandaged, staining through with fresh crimson, yet he carried himself like a conqueror. Every step of his boots left a dark wet print on the marble.
And then—his eyes found her.
Aurelia froze, clutching the soup bowl to her chest as if it were a shield. He slowed when he saw her, rain still dripping from his jaw, his gaze narrowing with curiosity that pressed against her skin like heat.
She had heard every word. Every insult. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared he could hear it too. But she did not bow her head. Not fully.
Her anger burned behind her eyes, and Kaelen's lips curved as if he could taste it.
Aurelia's knuckles whitened around the wooden bowl. Kaelen's words still burned in her skull, sharper than the pain that throbbed there. She could feel her tongue trembling against her teeth, ready to strike, ready to betray her.
She couldn't. Not here. Not with him.
Her pulse hammered as Kaelen's gaze lingered on her, curious, assessing, amused. The rain dripping from his hair traced his jaw, his chest rising with the rhythm of victory. He looked every bit the predator returned from war.
Aurelia forced herself upright, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. She clutched the bowl as though it were a lifeline and turned to Fira, her voice hushed but strained, words rushing out before her courage could break.
"Let's go," she said quickly, too quickly.
Fira's eyes flicked between Aurelia and Kaelen, hesitation heavy in her silence, but then she nodded and steadied her mistress by the arm.
Together they began to move, Aurelia's steps uneven, her fury coiled and silenced inside her like a blade she could not yet draw.
Kaelen's stare followed her all the way to the door, the faint curl of a smile tugging at his lips—as though he had already guessed what she had bitten back.
----------------------
The corridor felt endless, each step dragging against the weight of her fury. She could still hear Kaelen's voice, every slur against her people echoing in her skull like a curse. By the time she reached her chambers, her breath was uneven, her grip on the soup bowl trembling.
The door stood before her at last—sanctuary, silence.
But as she pushed it open, a figure blocked the threshold.
Julius.
His cloak was still damp from the storm, rain dripping onto the marble at his boots. He stood too straight, too ready, as though he had been waiting for her.
Aurelia's stomach clenched. Of all people—now.
Her anger, already sharpened to a blade, flared hotter. First Kaelen with his venom, and now Julius with his shadows. Her eyes narrowed, though she fought to keep her face unreadable.
Why is he here so quickly?
The question tore through her mind, unsettling her more than she wanted to admit.
Fira shifted at her side, uncertain, glancing between them.
But Aurelia did not speak. Not yet. She only tightened her grip on the wooden bowl, knuckles pale, waiting for Julius to give her reason not to slam the door in his face.
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To be continued...