After exerting tremendous effort, Lyla finally relented and agreed to add the requested dishes, resulting from Meghan's persistent pleading.
Meghan, upon returning, dared not let the queen consort discover her injured hands and discreetly concealed them within the folds of her sleeves.
Without much thought, Bailey encountered a peculiar scent emanating from one of the meat dishes delivered by the kitchen that evening. The mere whiff of it churned her stomach, prompting her to abstain from touching the plate.
"Why haven't you consumed much, Your Highness?" inquired Meghan.
"These dishes have spoiled, a perplexing occurrence in the kitchen. They have dared to deliver us rotten food," voiced Bailey with frustration.
A profound sense of anguish swept over Meghan as she prepared to clear away the dishes that had caused such distress.
Alas, at that very moment, her hands lacked the strength to steady the plate, and it plummeted to the floor, unleashing a cascade of scattered food. Overwhelmed with fear, she knelt, pleading, "It was my clumsiness. I beg Your Highness for forgiveness."
"Allow me to see your hand," commanded Bailey authoritatively.
Bailey observed Meghan's trembling hands, and unease seemed to creep over her. What could be the cause?
Meghan hesitantly extended her hand, concealing it behind her back.
Growing increasingly suspicious, Bailey demanded, "Reveal it now!"
With no alternative, Meghan cautiously presented her hand. Upon closer examination, Bailey was struck with astonishment! Once supple and unblemished, Meghan's hand bore an intricate tapestry of fresh wounds, their tender skin still devoid of scabs.
"Who inflicted these wounds upon you?" Bailey asked.
"It was my own doing..." confessed Meghan.
"If you lie to me again, I will not allow you to serve me!" threatened Bailey sternly.
Meghan, cornered and devoid of alternatives, divulged the details of the incident that transpired within the kitchen.
Hearing Meghan's account, a surge of anger coursed through Bailey's narrowed eyes. A flicker of vengeance danced within her gaze as she uttered through gritted teeth, "Dare they provoke me?"
"Your Highness, Lyla is an esteemed elder within the palace, even holding the position of palace keeper. She wields significant influence. Perhaps it is best to overlook this matter. I implore you not to engage in conflict with her. If I offer her a sum of money tomorrow, she will surely be willing to compromise," Meghan pleaded.
Bailey emitted a scornful laugh: "So,Lyla deliberately targeted you, and you believe appeasing her with money is the solution? Am 1, the mistress of this palace, expected to rely on her whims? How absurd!"
Tears streamed down Meghan's face as she sobbed, "It is solely my incompetence that prevents me from providing you with delectable meals."
"This is not your fault. You have suffered the most today. That wretched creature dared to afflict you. I shall ensure she receives a fitting retribution!" Bailey proclaimed, her determination evident in her clenched teeth.
First, Bailey meticulously examined the wounds on Meghan's hand. Initially dismissing them as superficial scratches, she was taken aback when she noticed the swelling and the bluish tinge staining the tips of her nails.
These wounds were undoubtedly poisoned!
The waters housed countless poisonous creatures, and uncooked fish, in particular, retained a toxic potency.
Without prompt treatment, Meghan's life could be in peril!
Soon enough, Meghan struggled to breathe, her face flushed, and her consciousness began to waver.
Bailey instructed her to rest on the bed and utilize her spiritual power. She fetched some topical medication. The ointment was a proprietary concoction she had developed, exclusive to the royal family of Ufrurg. It contained ingredients such as turmeric, white Che flowers, phoenix leaves, and thick magnolia, known for their heat- clearing and detoxifying properties.
With great care, Bailey cleaned the wounds on Meghan's hands. Despite Meghan's feeble protests, she persisted, "As a queen consort of noble standing, it is inconceivable that I would let a servant attend to such matters."
"Lie still and rest," Bailey instructed, squeezing the ointment onto a piece of gauze. She added a few drops of vinegar before wrapping it around Meghan's injured hand.
However, external treatment alone would not suffice. An internal remedy was necessary to alleviate the festering and burning pain of the wounds. Sadly, the original host's frail body rendered Bailey's perspiration and exertion futile, as she could not employ her spiritual power to transfer the required substances.
Faced with no alternative, she reluctantly sought other servants within the estate to venture to the apothecary and get some medicine.
The servant feigned concern and uttered, "Oh dear, I still have unfinished tasks at hand, lest the overseer reproaches me for neglecting them."
"Are my words of no consequence to you?" she queried, her voice tinged with disappointment.
A-smile played upon the servant's lips as she replied, "It is not so, but the distance to the apothecary is rather far. If I were to embark on the journey, it might unduly consume our precious time..."
"Enough." Bailey interjected, her patience waning. Nonchalantly, she tossed a silver ingot in the servant's direction. "Hurry and secure the medicine, and the remainder shall serve as your well-deserved reward."
In an instant, the servant's countenance changed. "I shall depart forthwith," she acquiesced.
Upon Bailey's return to the chamber, Meghan's condition deteriorated further.
Her petite countenance had flushed scarlet, her body succumbing to a feverish delirium. Feebly, she voiced her concern, "Your Highness, if this poison besets me, will my life be forfeit?"
With a gentle touch, Bailey sought to console her. "Fear not. Such thoughts need not burden your mind."
"Yet, my lady, I am plagued by immense suffering. My body alternates between searing heat and chilling cold. The anguish is unbearable," Meghan confessed.
With a tender resolve, Bailey used a clean damp cloth to wipe Meghan's wrists, ankles, and neck.
"Rest assured. The remedy will arrive with haste. I shall not permit your demise."
"Should I... perish, Your Highness, I beseech you to care for yourself in the days to come. Cease your clashes with the king. The enigmatic Ms. Mack is not one to be trifled with. Evade her, and do not engage in confrontation. It is you who shall suffer the consequences," Meghan pleaded.
"Brenna," Bailey uttered the name through gritted teeth, her eyes ablaze with fury.
She was no vengeful soul, yet she knew that grievances endured would eventually find their resolution!
Meghan had been the sole beacon of genuine concern since Bailey's transmigration, going so far as to expose herself to the poison in her quest to procure nourishing delicacies. How could Bailey not be moved by Meghan's unwavering commitment to her well-being, even as she høvered on the precipice of life's departure?
"You shall recover, and those who have wronged you shall face their due retribution!" Bailey vowed.
Swiftly, the errand-runner returned with the purchased medicine. After expertly brewing the medication in the kitchen, Bailey, with utmost care, personally administered it to Meghan.
Meghan's discomfort became unbearable, and before long, she drifted into a profound slumber, anticipating a considerable improvement upon awakening.
With matters settled, Bailey ventured into the kitchen where the cooks, upon catching sight of her, neglected the customary courtesies.
"This is hardly a place befitting the queen consort," remarked a voice disapprovingly.
"Who among you assumed the task of preparing the fish today, the role that fell upon Meghan? Reveal yourselves!" demanded Bailey, her tone firm.
"Your Highness, it was Meghan herself who insisted on undertaking the responsibility, None coerced her, one person hurriedly clarified.
Without a moment's hesitation, Bailey laid her hands upon the kitchen counter, snatching up a gleaming knife, while her icy gaze swept across the gathered individuals.
"Your Highness, what are you doing?" inquired a voice, tinged with concern.
"Should no one step forward, I possess an abundance of means to compel the truth," Bailey declared, her words imbued with an air of determination."
It was Maisy who proposed the idea to Lyla!" someone promptly revealed, revealing their treacherous intentions.
Timidly, Maisy emerged from the crowd, her voice quivering as she addressed Bailey, "Y-Your Highness, I merely followed Lyla's lead. I bear no ill will towards Meghan. Why would I deliberately provoke her?"
In response, Bailey brandished the knife, raising it directly at Maisy. "How dare you speak to me in such manner? Since you seem so inept at articulating your thoughts, perhaps I shall relieve you of the ability to speak altogether!"