The coughing started as a faint tickle in Seraphina's throat, an irritation easily dismissed, but within moments, it surged into something far more violent. Her body heaved, convulsing under the sudden attack, and she barely had time to grab the silk handkerchief resting beside her before a sharp, metallic taste flooded her mouth. She drew the cloth away, her breath hitching as crimson bloomed across its pristine white surface. Blood.
For a moment, she could do nothing but stare. Panic coiled in her chest like a living thing, squeezing her lungs even tighter. She pressed the cloth back to her lips, her trembling hands betraying her attempts to stay calm.
"Lydia!" The name tore from her throat, ragged and desperate.
The door burst open almost instantly, and Lydia rushed inside, her eyes going wide at the sight of the blood-soaked cloth.
"Your Highness!" Lydia fell to her knees beside the bed. "You're coughing blood—this is bad. You mustn't move—I'll fetch the healer immediately!"
Seraphina gave a weak nod, her voice failing her as another cough wracked her body. She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes and focusing on slowing her breathing. She would not let this control her. She refused.
The healer arrived within minutes, their robes trailing behind them as they strode quickly into the room. They bowed before kneeling at her side, their expression carefully schooled, though Seraphina didn't miss the flicker of concern in their eyes.
Her voice was sharper than intended. "Are you certain about what you said before?" She clenched the bloodstained cloth in her lap. "That my condition was improving? Because this—" She gestured toward the evidence of her suffering. "—says otherwise."
The healer bowed their head. "I… I cannot say for certain, Your Highness. This could be an unexpected reaction, or…" Their voice trailed off, but the implication lingered.
"Or I'm dying faster than you thought," Seraphina snapped.
The healer flinched. "No, Your Highness. That is not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I must examine you further to understand what is happening."
The healer's hands moved with practiced precision, their fingers pressing gently along her wrist to measure her pulse before leaning close to listen to her breathing. Seraphina watched them intently, her frustration mounting with every passing second. She hated this—the helplessness, the dependence on others to decipher what was happening to her own body.
After several minutes, they reached into their satchel and began preparing a remedy. Herbs were crushed into powder and mixed with water, their bitter scent filling the room. They murmured soft incantations over the mixture, their voice low and rhythmic, before offering the concoction to Seraphina.
"Drink this, Your Highness. It should ease the symptoms for now."
Seraphina accepted the cup without hesitation, swallowing the liquid in one bitter gulp. The sharpness of the taste burned her throat, but she forced it down, determined to regain control. Minutes passed before the tightness in her chest began to ease. Her breathing steadied, the pain dulling to a faint ache.
"This should stabilize you temporarily," the healer said, their voice cautious. "But I will need to study this further. Your symptoms are erratic and difficult to predict. I will return once I have prepared additional treatments."
Seraphina nodded stiffly, dismissing the healer with a wave of her hand. Once they had gone, she turned to Lydia, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and relief.
"Help me dress," Seraphina said firmly, pushing herself upright.
"But, Your Highness—"
"I am not bedridden," Seraphina interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "The kingdom will not pause because of a moment's weakness. I have work to do."
Reluctantly, Lydia moved to fetch her attire. Seraphina chose a gown of deep crimson adorned with gold embroidery, the high collar lending her a sense of authority. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate twist, a sapphire pendant resting against her chest—the mark of her royal lineage. By the time she was fully dressed, the color had returned to her cheeks, though a lingering weariness still clung to her. Settling into her office, she immersed herself in the duties of ruling. Scrolls detailing trade agreements, tax reports, and border patrol updates cluttered her desk.
"Taxes from the western province have fallen short again this month," Marielle reported as she entered, a sheaf of papers in her hands.
Seraphina frowned, dipping her quill into ink as she scanned the documents. "Send an envoy to investigate. Remind the guilds of their obligations and the consequences of failing to meet them. If they persist, we may need to reconsider their trade privileges."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"And the eastern border?" Seraphina asked, setting her quill down and meeting Marielle's gaze.
Marielle's expression darkened slightly. "The patrols have reported movement near the river crossings. It seems the raiders are testing our defenses again."
Seraphina's jaw tightened. "Double the patrols and prepare reinforcements if necessary. I want detailed reports on their activity by the end of the week."
"As you command."
Marielle moved to the next report, but Seraphina's focus faltered. A burst of laughter drifted in from outside, light and carefree—a stark contrast to the weight that hung within the chamber.
Her gaze snapped toward the window.
In the garden below, Kael stood near the hedges, speaking to one of the maidservants. She laughed, her eyes bright, her hand brushing lightly against his arm.
Something inside Seraphina twisted—sharp and unexpected.
Her fingers tightened around the quill, and heat flared beneath her skin, though she couldn't understand why. Kael was nothing more than a servant. A stranger with no past, no memories. And yet the sight of him, so at ease, so unburdened, gnawed at her.
Irrational. Undignified. She forced herself to look away.
"Marielle."
Her advisor turned immediately.
"What do you think of the new servant?"
"Kael, Your Highness?"
Seraphina nodded, keeping her expression carefully neutral.
Marielle hesitated, choosing her words. "I believe he has genuinely lost his memory. I've observed him closely, as you instructed. He's shown no signs of deceit—no suspicious behavior. If anything, he's been diligent, perhaps even eager to prove himself useful."
Seraphina absorbed the words, her thoughts circling Kael's image—the way he moved, the quiet intensity he carried despite his role.
"So, what do you think I should do with him?"
Marielle lowered her gaze respectfully. "That decision rests with you, Your Highness."
Seraphina tapped her fingers against the desk, her mind still unsettled. Kael had appeared at her gates like a riddle wrapped in shadows, and though he seemed harmless, there was something about him she couldn't ignore.
"Call him," she said abruptly.
Marielle bowed and left without question.
Alone, Seraphina rose and moved to the window again. Kael had shifted, his posture straighter now, as though he sensed the weight of unseen eyes.
Their gazes didn't meet, but still, she felt it—that strange pull, as if threads unseen bound them together.