Lilien's health was deteriorating rapidly. The fever burned through her body, relentless and unforgiving. Days had passed since her wound—deep and jagged in her stomach—had last been tended to. The bandages were now stained and stiff, soaked through with old blood. She was starved, and the gnawing ache in her stomach barely registered anymore compared to the feverish heat and dizziness that clouded her mind. She was far from the image of the perfect female lead in stories—her hair disheveled, skin pale, lips cracked, and hope dwindling. All she could think of was survival. And yet, even survival felt distant now.
Evan, the warden who had interrogated her day after day, entered the dark cell. His steps were heavy, echoing off the cold stone walls as he approached her. Without a word, he dropped a tray of food in front of her, the dull clatter of metal on stone filling the small space. The aroma of stale bread and thin gruel filled the air, but Lilien didn't move, her body too weak, her mind too drained.
"You can stop pretending now," Evan said, his voice calm, almost reassuring. "Eat up."
He waited for a response, but Lilien's eyes—half-lidded and sunken—remained fixed on the floor. She made no move toward the tray.
"No?" Evan's tone grew more impatient, but still, there was no response. He sighed, standing up slowly, the tray in his hand again.
"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" His voice was sharp now, laced with frustration. "You keep insisting you're from Erries, even with everything you've been through. Are you brainwashed? Lysan is known for that, aren't they?"
Lilien's silence weighed heavily in the room, each second that passed like a growing storm. Evan paced, circling her with calculated steps. "Say you're really from Erries. How did you get there? How did you end up here?"
No response. His voice took on a mocking edge. "What, are you mute now? Lost the will to talk?"
Before Evan could continue, the door creaked open, and another figure stepped in—the captain of the district's watchmen, his imposing figure filling the doorway.
"Evan," the captain said in a low voice, a hint of urgency beneath the calm exterior. "He's back."
"I'm busy," Evan snapped, his gaze never leaving Lilien. "This should've been simple by now. It usually doesn't take this long to break someone."
The captain said nothing, but his eyes flicked toward Lilien's frail form on the floor. Evan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine," he muttered, his tone cold. "You know what? Let's settle this. I'll send a letter to Erries, and when it arrives, we'll see if they recognize you. But that's a long wait. It could take a week or more."
Lilien stirred at his words, her voice hoarse and strained. "It wouldn't take that long," she croaked, her throat dry and painful. "Or less. Dirmil is an ally of Erries. You have access to the teleportation gates, which take less than a day to transport people and messages."
Evan paused, tilting his head. He had been expecting silence or weak denials, not a display of knowledge. "You seem well-informed," he said, studying her closely. "But if you know so much about Erries and its gates, it only makes you more suspicious. What was your mission there?"
"I'm not a spy," Lilien insisted, though her voice wavered.
Evan smiled—cold, calculating. "Of course," he said, the mockery in his tone unmistakable.
Lilien had hoped that revealing something useful would convince him, but it had backfired. Her intentions were lost on him, as was her desperation.
---
Outside, in the captain's office, the head captain of the district paced back and forth. His face was set in a deep scowl as he tried to process the latest orders he'd received.
"Sir, there's someone here—" a subordinate began, only to be cut off by the head captain's gruff voice.
"We are to send forces to search for this person," the captain said, throwing a crumpled piece of parchment to the ground. "They want us to mobilize troops for a single person. A waste of resources! I don't care if they're allies."
The subordinate stooped to pick up the parchment, but the captain waved him off. "Leave it," he growled. "We're not going to waste manpower on this. Just because he's a king doesn't mean he can make such ridiculous demands."
"We need everyone ready to hunt down a missing person," the head captain declared, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"Uh… there's a woman we arrested," the subordinate said cautiously. "We found her near the tunnels. She insists she was kidnapped and claims to be from Erries, but she's clearly human."
The head captain groaned, rubbing his temples. "Send her back to where she came from, then. We've got bigger problems."
"Evan's been interrogating her for days," the subordinate continued, "but she hasn't broken. She still insists she's from Erries."
"That's…suspicious," the captain muttered, his interest piqued.
"Exactly what I've been saying," Evan's voice called out as he entered the room. His eyes fell on the crumpled parchment on the floor. "What's this?"
The head captain gestured dismissively. "Just an unnecessary request from the palace. They want us to find someone important."
Evan bent down to pick up the parchment and smoothed it out, his eyes scanning the text. As he read, his expression shifted, and his breath caught. His eyes widened in shock.
"What?" the head captain asked, noticing Evan's reaction. "It's just some nonsense about the queen of Erries. They want us to send out a search party, can you believe that? The queen? And why should we care—"
Evan's face drained of color, and without a word, he turned and bolted from the room, rushing back down the corridor. He shoved the door to Lilien's cell open, standing in the doorway as he looked at her once more. His gaze darted from her to the crumpled poster in his hand, the resemblance undeniable.
He exhaled sharply, walking back out with careful steps.
"What was that about?" the head captain asked as Evan returned.
Evan was pale, his voice unsteady. "The woman in the cell…it's her."
The head captain frowned. "What do you mean?"
Evan swallowed hard. "The person we've been holding—the one claiming to be from Erries. She's not just anyone. She's…the queen."
The head captain's face contorted in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I didn't believe her," Evan admitted, running a hand through his hair, "but it's her. The queen of Erries. What do we do?"
For a moment, the room was silent as the weight of the revelation sank in.
---
Lilien was taken from the cell and escorted to a nearby inn under the watchful eyes of a squad of knights. She had lost consciousness long before they arrived, her fever overwhelming her weakened body. They laid her carefully on a bed, her skin cold and clammy, her breathing shallow. The knights, unsure of what to do, exchanged worried glances. The order had been clear—she was to be taken to the capital, to the royal palace itself—but there was no way she could make the journey in her current state.
"We need a physician, " one of the knights murmured. "If she dies before we get her to the palace…"
The others nodded in agreement, and one was sent off to fetch a local healer.
Hours passed, and Lilien remained unconscious, slipping deeper into the feverish delirium. In her mind, fragmented images flashed—memories of her life in Erries, the day she was taken, the journey to this place. Faces blurred, voices echoed in her head, and amidst it all, one thought repeated itself like a mantra: I must survive.
The physician arrived, a stern-faced woman with weathered hands, and immediately set to work. She inspected the wound in Lilien's stomach, muttering curses under her breath as she cleaned and redressed it.
"This wound should've been treated days ago," she snapped at the knights. "You're lucky she's still alive."
The knights said nothing, their faces grim as she continued her work. After what felt like an eternity, Lilien's breathing steadied, her fever broke, and she finally drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"She'll live," the physician said at last, wiping her hands on a cloth. "But she's weak. You'll have to take her to the capital soon, but be careful. The journey could still kill her if she's not strong enough."
The knights exchanged glances, relieved but still tense. The queen of Erries, in their hands—an unexpected turn of events that could have political consequences far beyond their understanding.
---
Back at the palace, the ne ws had already reached the king's ears. Messengers were dispatched, orders given, and preparations made to