The morning after the army's secret departure toward the border, Elena—the king's daughter—lay in bed, her body thinner than ever. She retched up every morsel she tried to eat, her limbs heavy with a paralyzing numbness.
Her personal maid was visibly anxious. Elena hadn't eaten in two days. Whenever she forced food down, her stomach rejected it, and her strength ebbed away by the hour. Day by day, her body grew frailer, as though life itself were slipping out of her.
Lying motionless beneath the covers, Elena whispered to her maid in a feeble, sickly voice:
"Call the physician… and tell my mother. I'm not well."
The maid bolted from the room. Elena had underestimated her condition, believing rest would restore her—but the sickness had crept in deep, and now it felt like her body was slowly dying.
A violent cough shook her chest. She raised her hand to her lips to suppress another wave of nausea, but what emerged wasn't food—it was blood. She stared at the red stains in horror, her heart seized by the sudden nearness of death. For the first time in her life, she truly felt it looming, and fear turned her to stone. So much she had yet to accomplish... and so little time.
Moments later, Queen Lina burst into the room, followed closely by the physician and the maid. The sight of blood on Elena's hand and the chaos in the room struck terror into their hearts. Lina rushed forward and commanded the physician:
"Do your job—immediately!"
Then she turned to her daughter, her voice trembling with anguish:
"What happened to you? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Elena exhaled weakly and extended her hand to the doctor, allowing him to examine her. She replied in a faint, breathless tone:
"I don't know, Mother… I've felt so weak these past two days. I thought it would pass, but today it got worse… and now I'm coughing up blood, as you can see."
The queen turned to the doctor, who had just finished checking her pulse and eyes. After a tense silence, he finally spoke:
"Her heartbeat is elevated. The blood is coagulated, foul-smelling, and bluish in color. Her body is wasting away. She shows clear signs of extreme fatigue and appetite loss…"
He paused, then added with grim certainty:
"It appears the princess has been poisoned."
His words struck like thunder, silencing the entire room. Lina stepped forward, her expression darkening:
"Are you certain?"
The physician nodded solemnly, then delivered a second blow:
"And it didn't happen two days ago. These symptoms only appear a week after exposure to poison."
Elena suddenly sat up, desperate to disprove him:
"But my maid checks the food every day! She even tastes it before I do—how could I have been poisoned?"
The maid nodded vigorously in agreement. Lina's voice turned thoughtful, probing:
"Elena… think carefully. What did you do a week ago? Anything unusual—anything at all. Try to remember. It might help us find a clue… and a cure."
Elena sank into thought, her face slowly blooming with crimson shame. Noticing the flush in her daughter's cheeks, Lina leaned closer:
"What is it? Speak—your life is on the line!"
Elena murmured, voice barely audible, weighed with embarrassment:
"I… I slept with Daniel. That's all that happened."
A strange silence swept through the room. Queen Lina's eyes narrowed in disbelief, then flared with fury:
"Did that bastard poison you?"
Elena answered quickly:
"No! I didn't eat or drink anything… not then."
But then she hesitated, as a forgotten detail surfaced in her memory:
"Except… I drank his blood. I tasted it… in that moment."
The shock returned—this time more intense. Lina stood frozen, haunted by the image of the red-eyed serpent she'd once seen etched into Daniel's back, and the unnatural powers he'd displayed on the battlefield.
A dangerous thought crystallized in the queen's mind. If her suspicions were right… she herself might be next.
She snapped to the physician:
"Give her the strongest antitoxins we have. Start analyzing her blood immediately—look for an antidote. I want results now, no matter the cost. Is that understood?"
The physician bowed deeply:
"As you command, my queen."
Then Lina turned back to her daughter and spoke softly:
"Fight it. Don't take this lightly. I'll return soon… and I'll stay with you. You're not alone in this. You will survive—no matter what it takes."
Her words were soaked in love and resolve. For the first time in what felt like forever, Elena wept—openly, fiercely. Tears of pain cascaded down her face like a waterfall from a mountaintop. Her voice trembled as she spoke:
"Alright, Mother… I'll do whatever you say. I'm sorry I've always been a burden to you…"
Her tears soaked her gown. Lina could bear no more. She turned and left the room swiftly—headed straight to Daniel's chamber, determined to confront the truth.
In another room, warm and quiet, laced with a hazy sense of intimacy, Lara sat in Daniel's lap, feeding him breakfast from her mouth. She felt the solid pressure of something hard against her backside, her face flushing deep red, while the sound of swallowing echoed gently through the space.
Once the meal was over, neither of them moved. The warmth thickened into humid tension, and their bodies remained close—breath mingling, lips nearly touching, as if gravity itself pulled them toward each other.
Then suddenly, the door creaked open.
Lara froze. She turned her head slowly… and there stood Lina, glaring at them, her face a storm of fury barely held in check.
Lara jumped off Daniel, hastily straightening her clothes, her eyes cast downward, unable to meet the queen's gaze. Lina's eyes swept over the scene—the flushed cheeks, the guilty posture. Lara stood, head bowed in shame.
Meanwhile, Daniel simply licked his lips, wearing an amused smile.
After a moment of chilling silence, Lina spoke—her voice cold, with a razor's edge:
"Lara, leave us. Now. And don't let anyone near this room. Is that clear?"
Her tone was like a winter wind, dry and sharp, sending a shiver down Lara's spine. She nodded stiffly, then rushed from the room like a shadow fleeing the sun.
The door closed, and a dead stillness fell upon the room. The air grew heavier with each breath. Lina was drowning in a storm of thoughts—rage tugged at her instincts, begging her to rip Daniel and Lara apart, but something more urgent held her back. She needed answers before she acted on her fury.
She broke the silence at last, her voice deceptively calm:
"How is your body feeling now?"
It was a loaded question—one meant to test his response, to draw him closer to the truth. Daniel, caught off guard by her sudden gentleness, expected a more aggressive confrontation. His mind clicked into focus, and realization dawned. Something was different.
He replied with flat indifference:
"I think I'm fine... though the wounds might open again today."
His answer startled her. He was clearly expecting more of the same—another round of torture, just like yesterday. Lina rushed to correct him, speaking in a reassuring tone:
"Don't worry. I didn't come here for that today."
Daniel tilted his head, responding with a touch of dark humor:
"So… does that mean you'll be doing it tomorrow?"
His question struck her like a slap. She hadn't expected that kind of tone—not after what they'd shared the night before. She thought he would be softer with her now… not more distant. But now, with her daughter's life hanging by a thread, Lina didn't even know how to begin answering him.