"Is the Madam really alright?" a passing maid asked.
"She's just asleep." Leah, Artemesia's Lady-in-waiting, assured, "I heard she had many guests yesterday." She closed Lady Montclair's door behind her quietly.
"Oh, they weren't just ordinary guests," the maid, Millie, whispered as they walked down the hall, "I heard the Crown Prince paid Lady Artemesia a visit."
Leah stopped in her tracks, "The Crown Prince?"
Millie nodded, "I heard from some of my friends here, I think Lady Tia screamed at the Princess or something. Or maybe it was The Prince.."
"Screaming? As immature as high society paints him, I don't think he's the type to scream."
"No, no, not His Highness, I remember now. It was Her Highness Princess Thalia."
"Oh. Why was she screaming?"
"I do not think you have the authority to simply address Her Highness as 'she'." A new voice joined.
Millie and Leah froze.
"D-Duchess!"
The Duchess of Montclair stood in their way, as they both bowed nervously.
"Go on. Continue," she mocked. "If you lack the shame to speak of the Princess like that, then I doubt you would hesitate to speak of me the same after I dismiss you."
"Forgive me, Your Grace!" Leah wailed, bowing even deeper.
She scoffed, "Get back to work. I don't want anyone here wasting their time in idle gossip."
The Lady in waiting and maid scuttled away as Thedosia sighed, rubbing her temples.
"I need to find new attendants for her."
She walked over to her daughter's room, knocking softly, "Tia, love, are you up?"
Silence.
Thedosia sighed, "She doesn't usually sleep this late. Did something really happen with their Highnesses yesterday?"
She turned away, returning to her office.
However, inside her bedroom, Artemesia was wide awake.
That night, she couldn't sleep. The siblings' words haunted her to the ends of dreamland.
Do you regard me as a man at all?
You're so dense that you can't even take a hint.
How much more will you ruin my brother?
Artemesia was always praised for being wise beyond her years. For always grasping the situation before the adults did. For being so perceptive.
But that vision had long been shattered.
What did she do wrong?
Was Leander truly in love with her?
It would perfectly explain his behavior these past days. The awkwardness, the defensiveness, the vulnerability.
In a daze, she got up. Without even washing her face, she sat down on her table and grabbed a quill.
She stared at the paper for a few moments, quill in hand, yet she couldn't find the words.
"Dear Leander? Or Dear Crown Prince?"
Page after page met its end on the floor, or as a crumpled up ball on Tia's desk as she worked to perfect her letter.
Finally, after half an hour, she was done.
She carefully put it in an envelope, stamped it, and let it sit on her desk.
"Leah! Prepare my bathwater!"
. . .
Gregor walked into the Dining Hall early that fine morning.
After exchanging the usual greetings, he noticed some of his family was missing.
"Where's Thalia and Lee?" He asked aloud.
"Lia wasn't well," Damian answered, buttering his toast.
"And Leander?"
"Brother Lee is asleep," Adrian replied.
He hummed in acknowledgment, "Is Lia sick? And Leander?"
"Leander is fine, he said he was just tired." His wife replied, "I'm not sure about Thalia. I'll check up on them after breakfast."
He nodded, "Remind me as well."
The Hall was silent except for the clinking, and finally, the scraping of chairs as the children left to attend to their own tasks.
Celestia was just finishing up her bacon, when Gregor started coughing.
She froze, but then quickly handed him a glass of water, "Are you alright, dear?"
"I'm- fine," he said in between coughs, "Just a little scratch."
But a few moments went by, and the wheezing only got worse.
The Emperor grabbed a napkin to cover his mouth, while his wife frantically called for the servants.
But when he pulled it back to catch a breath, he paused.
The sound of servants scattering filled the hall once again.
"Just a minute, love, the-" Celestia glanced back at her husband to assure him, but then froze.
A scream erupted from the Dining Hall.
There was blood on the Emperor's handkerchief.
. . .
"Where?!"
Leander was dashing down the Main Hall like a madman.
A maid was running behind him, trying to guide him, "Right this way, Your Highness!"
He found the room and burst in, panting heavily.
Inside, his family was already gathered.
Celestia was holding her husband's hand, on the verge of sobbing. Adrian was just watching the scene, terrified. Gregor was trying to comfort them, the effort futile. Thalia was sitting on the bed with her Father, her eyes swollen. Damian and Countess Sabrina were engaged with the Doctor. Servants were lined up at one corner of the room, concern written across their faces.
Leander didn't even have time to change into his proper attire when he heard his Father passed out while having breakfast.
He caught everyone's attention as he stormed inside, worried.
"Father! Goodness gracious, are you alright?!" he gasped, still not having caught his breath.
"I'm perfectly fine. Everyone is just overreacting." He waved a free hand.
Celestia, however, begged to differ. "Perfectly fine? You coughed up blood, and passed out, yet you're perfectly fine?"
Leander took a deep breath, "Okay, Mother, calm down. Let's see what the physician has to say. Maybe it's not that serious."
He feigned calm, but he could feel his heart pounding against his chest violently.
Glancing around, he noticed the doctor and his Nanny standing opposite the bed, lost in discussion. Leander walked up to them, wanting to hear about his Father's condition.
"Prince Leander," the physician bowed.
"How is he?"
"Your Highness, Countess," he opened the door and gestured for them to step out into the hall.
Damn it. It's serious.
They obliged, leaving Damian behind.
"I want to explain what's going on clearly," he started, voice steady. "And I want you to stop me if anything doesn't make sense."
They both nodded. Leander was getting nervous.
"What we're dealing with is called Chronic Bronchiectatic Lung Disease."
Sabrina shifted. Leander's shoulders stiffened.
"It means that parts of the lungs were damaged earlier in life, usually by a serious infection," the doctor continued. "That damage is permanent. The airways are wider and weaker than they should be, which allows mucus and bacteria to collect instead of clearing out."
He paused. Leander's fingers curled into a tight fist.
"This is why infections keep coming back. And why, when they do, they can escalate quickly."
Sabrina leaned forward. "The blood?"
The doctor nodded. "Coughing up blood can happen during flare-ups. The lung tissue is fragile. Inflammation or strain can cause small blood vessels to rupture." He glanced briefly at Leander, "It's alarming, but it's a known symptom of this condition."
"And the passing out?"
"Low oxygen levels," the doctor said. "Sometimes fever. Sometimes the coughing itself. The body gets overwhelmed."
The hall went quiet except for the faint hum of chatter from somewhere near.
"This condition does not go away," the doctor said gently. "There is no cure that restores the lungs to normal."
Sabrina exhaled slowly, staring at the floor.
"But," the doctor added, lifting a finger, "it is manageable. With proper treatment, monitoring, and quick response to flare-ups, people live with this condition for years."
"There will be stable periods. And there will be sudden episodes that require urgent care. Hospital visits are not a failure. They're part of staying ahead of this."
Leander looked up. "If he hadn't been brought in..."
The doctor met his gaze. "Untreated flare-ups can become life-threatening. The right thing was done."
"This illness is serious. It's permanent. But it is not a death sentence." A pause. "Our goal is to make sure it doesn't get to decide the ending."
He bowed, "That's all I wish to say. I will now be taking my leave."
Leander let out a deep breath as the doctor excused himself, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Lee?"
He looked to the side. Sabrina's eyes were still glued to the floor. "You're going to break this to them."
Leander hesitated, but nodded, "Yes, Nanny."
He reached out for the handle, but then paused. Steeling himself, he turned the knob and stepped inside, followed by the Countess, and shut the door.
Once the servants and the young ones were out, Celestia looked up at Leander expectantly, "Well?"
He cleared his throat, "It's... a chronic lung illness."
His mother's eyes widened in terror, "W...what...?"
Thalia sprang up from the bed, "B-but it has to be curable, right?"
He dropped his head, shaking it.
Dead silence filled the room.
"It... is not fatal. If he gets proper treatment, it can be managed," he gulped.
But he knew that was not enough to convince his terrified mother.