Seraphine was used to Leorick's silences, but this one felt different. He sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his hand. The faint, silvery veins crawling up his wrist had grown darker, shimmering faintly even in the dim light of the room.
"They're spreading," he said at last, his voice as thin as the morning mist. His usual steady tone had cracked, betraying a fear he rarely showed.
Seraphine hesitated, then knelt before him, gently taking his hand in hers. "We'll find a way to stop it," she said, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach. But even as she said it, she wasn't sure.
The curse wasn't just a shadow over his reign anymore—it was devouring him.
---
Nyssa arrived later that day, her face grim. She carried a heavy book bound in cracked leather, its pages filled with symbols and notes from their most trusted scholars.
"The curse has been misunderstood," she began, placing the book on the table. Seraphine and Leorick leaned closer as she flipped to a page filled with runes glowing faintly. "It's not just a punishment. It's consuming your life force, accelerating your aging. At this rate..." Nyssa hesitated, looking up. "It's not decades anymore. It's years—possibly less."
Leorick stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone floor. "How long?"
"We can't be certain," Nyssa said softly. "But unless we intervene soon... the curse will claim you before the next winter."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Seraphine's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "There has to be a way to slow it."
"There are treatments," Nyssa admitted. "But they require rare ingredients and careful handling. And even then, it's only temporary."
Leorick's jaw clenched. "No temporary solutions. Focus on the cure."
But Seraphine shook her head. "If it buys us time, it's worth it. Tell me what we need, Nyssa."
---
Nyssa provided a list of ingredients: aetherroot from the Enchanted Glade, which was protected by a temperamental spirit; shards of obsidian ice found only in the Frosted Peaks; and a vial of dragon's blood, nearly impossible to obtain without attracting dangerous attention.
"I'll go," Seraphine said without hesitation.
"No." Leorick's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. He turned to her, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and fear. "You're not risking your life for this."
"And you're not risking yours by refusing it!" she shot back. Her voice trembled, but she held his gaze. "If I can do something to help you, then I will. Don't ask me to stand by and watch you—" She stopped herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I won't lose you, Leorick."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. Finally, Leorick relented with a reluctant nod.
---
The Enchanted Glade was more perilous than expected. The forest seemed alive, with shadows that shifted and whispered as Seraphine and Nyssa ventured deeper. The spirit guarding the aetherroot appeared as a towering figure of smoke and light, its voice echoing through the trees.
"Why do you seek the root?" it demanded, its form shifting with each word.
"To save someone," Seraphine replied, her voice steady despite the chill crawling up her spine.
The spirit circled her, its presence oppressive. "Would you trade your own life for his?"
The question lingered, and Seraphine hesitated, her heart pounding. "If I must," she said finally.
The spirit stilled, and after a long pause, it vanished. The aetherroot appeared at her feet, glimmering faintly. Nyssa watched her silently as they retrieved it and began the long trek back.
---
Returning to the palace, Seraphine found Leorick weaker than before. His skin was paler, the silver marks spreading up his neck. "You were gone too long," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard.
"We got the root," Seraphine said, sitting beside him and taking his hand. "And we'll get the rest."
"You shouldn't have gone," he murmured, his gaze distant. "If something had happened to you..."
She smiled faintly, though her heart ached. "You're not rid of me that easily."
---
As the royal alchemists prepared the first treatment using the aetherroot, Nyssa returned with troubling news: the Frosted Peaks had been overrun by a rogue faction of ice mages, and acquiring the obsidian ice would require negotiating—or fighting—them.
Meanwhile, rumors spread through the court about Leorick's declining health, emboldening his political rivals. Duke Aldric began rallying support, pushing for an emergency council meeting to question the king's ability to rule.
Leorick refused to address the rumors, instead focusing on Seraphine as she prepared to leave again. "Promise me you'll be careful," he said, his voice quieter than usual.
"I promise," she said, though the weight of their shared fears lingered unspoken.
Here's a revised version of Chapter 15 with the added twist of the High Priest and the changed prophecy:
---
The air in the royal chambers was heavy with the scent of herbs and burning incense, yet none of it masked the unease that clung to Seraphine like a second skin. She stood beside the alchemists, watching as they poured the golden liquid—an elixir made from the rare ingredients she had risked so much to obtain—into a crystal vial.
Leorick sat nearby, his face pale and drawn. The shimmering silver lines of the curse had spread to his neck, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly glow.
"This should slow it," the head alchemist said, handing the vial to Seraphine. "But it won't reverse the effects. The progress is slower than we hoped."
Seraphine's hands tightened around the vial. "It's not enough," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Leorick, leaning against the arm of his chair, managed a faint smile. "You've done more than enough, Seraphine. It's not your burden to bear."
But it was, she thought. She didn't say it aloud, instead stepping forward and pressing the vial into his hands. "Drink it," she said firmly.
He obeyed, though his gaze lingered on her, as if he could see the weight she carried.
---
The doors to the chamber burst open without warning, and the High Priest entered, his robes trailing like smoke on the floor. His presence commanded immediate attention, silencing the room with a single glance.
"Your Majesty," the priest said, bowing briefly before turning to Seraphine. "Lady Everhart."
Seraphine frowned, her fingers curling into the folds of her dress. She had always found the priest's visits unsettling, his cryptic manner more frustrating than helpful. "What brings you here?"
The priest straightened, his expression grave. "I bring news of the prophecy."
At that, Leorick sat up straighter, though the motion made him wince. "Go on."
The High Priest clasped his hands, his voice resonant and calm. "The curse remains because the prophecy has shifted. The one destined to cure you is no longer Lady Seraphine."
The words fell like stones into a deep well, the weight of them sinking into the room's silence.
"What do you mean?" Seraphine asked, her voice sharp.
The priest's gaze met hers, unfaltering. "The threads of fate have unraveled. Another has been chosen—a girl with a pure heart and a connection to the ancient magic that binds this curse."
Leorick's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "And who is this supposed girl?"
The High Priest hesitated. "We have not identified her yet, but the signs point to a maiden of noble blood, untouched by the turmoil of the court."
Seraphine's heart clenched. She had fought for every step of this cure, sacrificed her safety and pride, and now... now she wasn't enough?
"This is nonsense," Leorick snapped, his voice colder than she'd ever heard. "Seraphine has risked everything for me. There is no one else I trust to cure this curse."
"The prophecies are not for us to decide," the High Priest replied calmly. "They are dictated by forces beyond mortal comprehension."
---
When the High Priest left, the room felt emptier than before. Seraphine turned to Leorick, her expression stormy. "Do you believe him?"
"No," Leorick said without hesitation. "Prophecies are fickle things, and I refuse to let someone else dictate my fate."
But she could see the doubt flickering in his eyes.
"You're doubting me," she said quietly.
His gaze softened, and he reached for her hand. "I'm not. Seraphine, I..." He exhaled, leaning back. "This curse is tearing everything apart. I don't want you to suffer because of me."
"I'm not giving up," she said, pulling her hand away. "Not now. Not ever."
---
In the days that followed, whispers of the prophecy spread through the court, fueled by those who doubted Seraphine's ability to cure the king. Duke Aldric was the first to seize the opportunity, suggesting that a council of mages search for the "true" savior.
Meanwhile, Seraphine continued her efforts, working tirelessly with the alchemists and healers. But the doubt gnawed at her. What if she wasn't the one? What if all her efforts were meaningless?
And then came the rumor—a girl from the eastern provinces, said to have healed her entire village with a single prayer. The High Priest's attention shifted to her, further fueling the uncertainty.
Seraphine didn't know what hurt more: the court's whispers or the quiet looks Leorick gave her when he thought she wasn't watching.