Having crossed the long corridor, Queen Midela returned to her bedchamber.
Faint prayers could be heard echoing from the palace, carrying with them a calming power.
"Your Majesty!"
The maids at the palace gate greeted her with a respectful bow.
"Is Archbishop Gregory performing a healing magic on His Majesty?"
"Yes."
Queen Midela nodded, stood quietly outside the chamber until the prayers from within ended, and then she walked in.
The platinum Holy Light had not entirely dissipated yet, blanketing the bedchamber with a sacred, bright hue.
"Your Majesty, how are you feeling?" Queen Midela quickened her steps to the bedside.
Emperor Reinhardt was leaning against the bed, pale and weak, a state unbecoming of a powerful sixth-tier knight.
"Thanks to Archbishop Gregory, I can feel my body slowly recovering." He spoke in a breathless tone, as if he could be carried away by a breeze.
