Marquis Lavender.
Elara stirred awake to the faint shuffling of hurried footsteps and the murmur of hushed voices. The sound of orders being softly given and acknowledged pulled her further from the haze of sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking against the soft light filtering through the room.
She was still lying on her stomach, her arms carefully tucked beside her under the comforting embrace of velvety fabric. As her senses returned, she became acutely aware of the dull ache radiating from her back—a marked contrast to the unbearable burn she vaguely remembered.
The room around her was unfamiliar yet striking. The decor was elegant without being ostentatious, the perfect balance of refinement and restraint. Rich silver and royal blue tones dominated the space, complemented by subtle accents that hinted at nobility. Minimal embellishments adorned the walls, and the furniture, though tastefully designed, carried an understated charm. It was a room crafted with care, reflecting the personality of someone who valued elegance without excess.
Elara's gaze flicked toward the source of the murmurs, her mind still foggy as she tried to piece together where she was—and more importantly, how she had ended up here.
She shifted, attempting to push herself upright, but the dull ache in her back immediately reminded her of her injuries. Still, she noticed something peculiar. While the pain in her stab wound lingered, the sharp stings and aches from the other places she'd been hurt had dulled significantly. Another detail struck her: there was no discomfort from lying in the same position for too long. She clearly remembered sleeping in the same position she just woke up. Had she not slept for long? The thought unsettled her as she was feeling quite fresh for someone who had gone through so much and slept only a little.
The quiet murmurs of voices grew sharper, drawing her attention. She noticed several women moving about the room, their movements precise yet careful as they adjusted linens, dusted surfaces, and tidied the space. Among them was a middle-aged woman with a commanding presence, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the room as she directed the younger maids.
As Elara shifted slightly, the woman's gaze snapped to her. Her expression flickered with a mixture of relief and urgency.
"She's awake," the woman whispered, her voice steady but laced with palpable emotion. Turning to the nearest young maid, she added firmly, "Send for the head physician immediately."
The maid nodded quickly, hurrying out of the room without a word. The other maids froze where they stood, their faces a mix of relief and concern as they turned toward Elara. She studied them carefully, her thoughts shielded behind the neutral expression she'd perfected over years of training.
Why are they looking at me like that?
The middle-aged woman, clearly the one in charge, stepped forward. Unlike the others, she wasn't dressed in a maid's uniform but in a more formal, understated outfit that marked her as the head maid. Her expression softened slightly as she approached Elara.
"Young Miss," she said gently, a note of relief in her voice. "It's good to see you awake."
Elara's gaze sharpened. "How long was I asleep?" she asked, her tone calm and measured, masking the unease building inside her.
The head maid hesitated for the briefest moment before answering. "Two days, my lady," she said. "You've been unconscious for two days."
Elara blinked, her neutral mask almost slipping. Two days? She hadn't expected such an answer.
The head maid continued, her voice carrying a warmth that felt strange to Elara in this unfamiliar setting. "Everyone in the estate has been worried sick for you. We've all been praying for your well-being."
Elara said nothing, her mind racing. Everyone in the estate? She glanced around the room again, her unease growing. Where exactly was she? Why did these people seem so invested in her recovery?
Still, she kept her expression impassive and nodded faintly, her sharp gaze flicking back to the head maid. "I see," she replied softly, offering no further response as she tried to make sense of the situation.
Before Elara could process the head maid's words or the strange sense of unease settling in her chest, a sharp knock at the door demanded her attention. She turned her head slightly, wincing at the lingering dull pain in her body.
The door opened before she could utter a word, and four figures stepped inside.
Leading the group was Physician Calytrix, the same woman who had treated Elara's wounds in the camp. Despite the fleeting familiarity, seeing her brought a faint sense of relief to Elara. In a room full of strangers, she now had someone she had, if only briefly, encountered before.
Behind Calytrix was an elderly man whose features bore a striking resemblance to hers—likely a close relative. His face was lined with age, yet his movements exuded the confidence and precision of someone who had spent decades in his craft. His attire was simple but dignified, hinting at a life of service in medicine.
The third figure drew Elara's attention instantly. He was a man of striking appearance, dressed in light purple robes adorned with subtle embroidery that shimmered in the soft light. The design was intricate, the edges laced with silver and gold threads that gave his attire a regal yet understated elegance, reminiscent of something from an elaborate tapestry. His hair and eyes were a soft lavender hue, matching his outfit in a way that felt deliberate, as if the colors themselves were his identity.
He stood with a posture of quiet authority, his presence commanding yet not overbearing. Although he looked to be in his mid-thirties, there was an ageless quality about him, as though he carried years of experience that belied his appearance.
The group was followed by the young maid who had been sent to fetch them. She quickly stepped aside, allowing the others to approach Elara.
Each greeted her in turn.
Physician Caly offered her a small, respectful smile and addressed her warmly. "Young Miss, it is good to see you awake."
The elderly man inclined his head, his tone steady and professional. "Young Miss, it is a relief to see you recovering."
The lavender-haired man stepped forward last, his voice calm and rich with warmth. "Elara." He spoke her name with familiarity, his tone so fond it felt oddly out of place.
Elara's gaze lingered on him for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. This man's familiarity with her name, paired with the casual fondness in his voice, made her uneasy. Should she know him? The question gnawed at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it aside, unwilling to reveal her uncertainty.
She managed a faint smile in response to Physician Caly's greeting, acknowledging the others with only a curt nod. Her lack of verbal response seemed to spark something unspoken among the trio. The lavender-haired man exchanged a brief, pointed glance with the two physicians before turning his attention to the head maid.
"Prepare something light for her, avoid adding any spices.... Everyone else, leave us," he instructed, his voice gentle but firm.
The head maid hesitated for only a moment before bowing her head. "Of course, my lord." She gestured to the other maids, and they quickly exited the room, leaving Elara alone with the three.
As the door closed behind them, the lavender-haired man stepped closer, his lavender eyes studying her intently. Elara straightened slightly, her unease masked behind a calm expression, her guard instinctively rising as the room fell into a tense silence.
The lavender-haired man's demeanor shifted abruptly, his expression hardening as his tone grew formal. "My lady," he began, addressing her with a respectful distance that starkly contrasted with his earlier fondness. "Pardon the abruptness, but, I need you to recount everything you can about your injuries, particularly the stab wound on your back."
Elara blinked at the sudden change, momentarily caught off guard. His earlier familiarity had left her wary, but this new formality was just as disconcerting. Still, she dismissed the thought, turning her focus to the man now seated gracefully in a nearby chair. The elderly physician, Lucan, and Physician Lavendra stood by her bedside, their expressions watchful and attentive.
Taking a steadying breath, Elara recounted what she could. "There was always an itching sensation around the wound," she said carefully, "and it never seemed to lessen, no matter what was done."
The marquis nodded, his expression thoughtful but sharp. "That is a common symptom of the poison battling against your body's natural healing ability."
Elara stilled, her mind snagging on his words. Natural healing ability? It was an unexpected revelation, one she hadn't been aware of—or at least, she couldn't remember being aware of. She kept her face neutral, unwilling to betray her surprise, but the marquis caught the faint flicker in her gaze. Though he said nothing, his observant eyes lingered on her for a moment before returning to the matter at hand.
Elara pushed aside her thoughts and continued. "But in the carriage… the itching was replaced by a burning sensation. Intense, searing, it was like the wound was on fire-"
The marquis's calm demeanor shattered. His lavender eyes darkened, and his kind features tensed with visible shock. "Burning?" he interrupted urgently. "Did it remain within the wound, or did it spread around it?"
"It spread," Elara replied evenly, her tone guarded but honest. "The area around the wound felt like it was on fire."
The marquis's complexion paled. He leaned forward slightly, the light catching on his lavender hair as his voice dropped to a grave tone. "And beyond that? Do you recall anything else?"
Elara hesitated. She had carefully avoided mentioning anything about the wound's origin—it wasn't a secret she was keeping, but rather, a gap in her memory. "I…" she began, choosing her words carefully, "I don't remember much. It's all foggy."
The marquis exchanged a sharp glance with the two physicians, his expression darkening. His tone was measured but serious as he turned back to Elara. "What else can you not remember, my lady?"
Elara's chest tightened at the question, her mind whirring. Not remember? What should I tell him when my entire world has shifted? she thought to herself. She resisted the urge to clench her fists, her hands instead lying motionless at her sides. Should I tell him I'm not the person they believe me to be? That I might just be someone else in this girl's body?
Her thoughts churned with unease, but she quickly dismissed them. No good would come from voicing such doubts. She forced her face into a neutral expression, feigning ignorance as she met the marquis's piercing gaze. "I'm not sure what you mean, my lord."
The marquis's lavender eyes narrowed slightly, his posture straightening as his tone grew firmer. "Let me be clear then," he said, his voice steady but unyielding. "How much of your memory have you lost?"