Rena found King Darius awake, propped against an assortment of pillows in his private chamber, a soft glow from the nearby lantern casting half-shadows across his face. The lines of strain on his brow were less pronounced than before, and though he still looked exhausted, a certain alertness brightened his gaze. Queen Maribel had evidently visited him earlier, for a delicate arrangement of white lilies adorned the bedside table, their mild fragrance overlaying the medicinal tang of herbs. A physician hovered near the back wall, quietly reorganizing vials and jars of healing concoctions.
The king's expression eased further when Rena stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her as softly as possible, mindful not to stir any draft in the still air. Her legs felt heavy from her earlier efforts in the council chamber, but the wave of relief that came with seeing her father more lucid lent her fresh energy. She made a respectful dip of her head—an instinctive acknowledgment of his station, even though part of her wished she could simply rush forward and embrace him. She was still learning how to express her newfound daughterly devotion in a court that prized decorum.
"Welcome, my child," King Darius said, voice scratchy but threaded with quiet pleasure. "I trust you've been looking after your mother, as well as the kingdom." He gestured for her to approach, his hand trembling faintly with the effort of lifting it.
Rena hastened to his bedside, relieved to see him speaking more than a few words at a time. "I've been doing what I can," she murmured. "Are you in much pain this morning?"
He shook his head, though the motion was small. "The fever lingers, but in a distant way. Much improved compared to the torment I felt just days ago." His lips twitched into a slight, wry smile. "That's thanks to you, no doubt."
"I only gave you some relief," she said softly. "Your illness isn't gone, and I… I'm sorry I couldn't do more. Perhaps, in time, I'll find a way to strengthen my healing gift."
A flicker of fatherly protectiveness lit his eyes. "You've given me a breathing space," he said. "I can't ask for more, not when you've already risked your own well-being. And I'll need you strong for whatever awaits us all."
She lowered herself onto a simple wooden chair beside the bed, careful with her gold-and-blue gown to avoid tangling in the legs. While he took a sip from a cup of herbal broth, she told him about the morning's council, how the envoys from Imlera and Drenvale had arrived, and how both seemed open to forging beneficial agreements. She recounted her own small part in the negotiations—discussing trade balances, standing beside Queen Maribel and answering questions about her return to court. King Darius listened with rapt attention, occasionally nodding or asking clarifying questions, as though each detail were vital for him to remain tethered to a kingdom he could not yet fully govern.
"Then something happened," she said quietly, leaning forward. Her own heartbeat quickened at the recollection. "One of Drenvale's attendants collapsed—likely a heart attack or a sudden seizure. I… I managed to heal him, Father. Right there, in front of everyone. I had to try."
An awed hush settled between them, as though the dim lamplight itself held its breath. King Darius exhaled slowly. "You used your gift, publicly," he said, a spark of pride and apprehension mingled in his tone. "Severin was there, I presume?"
"Yes, and he didn't miss the chance to take note," Rena replied. "He applauded, in a way that felt more mocking than sincere. But at least now the envoys—and some of the nobles—have witnessed what I can do. Maybe that will lend credibility to my place at court, despite whatever Severin whispers."
The king's mouth tightened slightly. "He'll be scheming, rest assured. He thrives on twisting any event that might bolster our standing into suspicion or fear. But you've made it that much harder for him to discredit you. So in that sense, you've taken a strong step."
She couldn't help a small grin. "Thank you. That's what I hoped—though it was no staged display, I promise. I don't ever want my healing to become a spectacle."
With the slightest inclination of his head, he offered a gentle reassurance. "I understand, and I believe the people will see your sincerity." After a pause, a shadow of worry flickered over his features. "Still, the more you exhibit such power, the more some might covet or fear it. Be wary of those who would seek to exploit your gift—or undermine it for their own ends."
She bowed her head, murmuring that she understood. For a few moments, they spoke of less charged matters: the state of the castle's gardens, the new tapestry Queen Maribel had commissioned, and the likelihood that Imlera would request an exclusive trade route. Rena found these calmer discussions a welcome change from the tension of confronting Severin or grappling with near-death emergencies. However, the respite proved brief when a soft knock sounded at the door.
A palace steward entered, bowing low. "Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty. Princess. Lord Severin has requested an audience with the king—he claims an urgent matter regarding city guard deployments. Shall I turn him away, or would you prefer to see him?"
Rena felt King Darius stiffen, and she sensed his reluctance to endure more politicking while still convalescing. Yet refusing Severin outright might be dangerous. She touched her father's arm lightly and met his gaze, reading both fatigue and determination there.
"Let him in," King Darius said, voice subdued but firm. "I would hear what he has to say, though I suspect it's only a pretext."
The steward bowed again and withdrew. King Darius motioned for Rena to remain seated. "Please, daughter, stay by my side. If he aims to question your role, I'd rather we face him together."
Rena nodded. Her pulse spiked at the idea of Severin entering this private haven where she had hoped her father could rest. Yet she recognized that in a court fraught with rivalries, ceding ground without challenge rarely ended well.
Within moments, Severin's measured footsteps approached. The steward escorted him into the room, then discreetly exited, leaving Rena, King Darius, the physician, and Severin alone. Severin wore a dark, embroidered tunic of fine cloth, a carefully chosen ensemble that conveyed understated wealth. His expression was one of polite concern, though his eyes gleamed with practiced calculation.
"Your Majesty," Severin said, bowing with exaggerated reverence. "I'm relieved to see you recovering. The castle has buzzed with word that the princess's abilities have brought you comfort." He paused to offer Rena a thin smile. "And, of course, she also rendered assistance in the council chamber this morning, saving a Drenvale envoy's retainer. Remarkable news indeed."
King Darius inclined his head slightly, his tone neutral. "I appreciate your visit, though I'm uncertain of the urgency. You mentioned city guard deployments?"
Severin stepped nearer, folding his hands. "Yes, indeed. We received fresh reports of bandit activity along the northwestern trade roads—possibly linked to smaller groups that once prowled near Whisperwood. I propose a substantial shift of city guard forces to address the threat, including a directive for them to collect additional levies from local villages to finance the operation."
Rena's jaw tightened. She'd recently heard petitions from farmers complaining of already-strained resources. More levies could devastate them, especially if the rumored bandit problem remained unconfirmed. "Is there evidence these bandits are truly so numerous?" she asked, keeping her voice controlled. "We risk harming innocent villages if we impose heavier taxes on top of everything else."
Severin's gaze flicked to her, a hint of amusement dancing there. "Innocent villages may suffer worse under bandit raids if we do not secure enough funds to field an effective guard presence, Princess," he said, using her title with delicate emphasis. "But I forget—you may have gleaned some deeper insights from your… healing abilities."
Her cheeks heated, but she refused to flinch. "The petitions I've heard indicate peasants are already struggling to pay the current levies."
King Darius cleared his throat. "I'd prefer a more measured approach, Severin. Perhaps we can temporarily deploy a handful of city guard units while seeking alternative funding, rather than piling more taxes on those who can't afford them."
Severin dipped his head in pseudo-agreement. "A prudent notion, Your Majesty. Yet you must realize that we risk diminishing our city guard's effectiveness if we do not expand their mandate. Some of the newer guards are inexperienced. Additional levies might bolster training and equipment."
Rena's anger simmered, though she kept her voice steady. "You speak as if there's no middle ground. If we tighten the existing budget or reduce wasteful expenditures—"
"Wasteful?" Severin pounced on the word. "Are you suggesting the throne's current spending on palace upkeep, official ceremonies, or even foreign receptions might be 'wasteful?' That would hardly please our allies."
She froze, recalling the ceremony just that morning to greet the envoys—lavish, yes, but arguably a key display of Silverstrand's strength. "I'm only pointing out that not every solution demands pressing more taxes on those already at their limit."
King Darius raised a hand wearily. "I won't be pinned into a corner. Severin, draft your proposals with specifics—the number of guards required, the exact villages impacted—and then present them to the queen and princess for review. No new levies will be enforced without my direct approval." His voice, while still strained, carried an undeniable command.
Severin's lips pressed together before he answered. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I merely thought expediency was vital in defending the realm." He paused, offering a bow that somehow felt condescending rather than respectful. "In that case, I shall finalize a report. My hope is that our fair princess will see reason in ensuring the guard is adequately supported."
Rena met his gaze. "I want the guard supported, but not at the cost of crushing small villages. We'll expect transparent data, Lord Severin. Numbers. Proof."
A ghost of a smirk touched his features. "Of course. We do aim for transparency in all matters." He inclined his head toward King Darius once more. "Your Majesty, I wish you continued recovery. Your presence, and that of the princess, brings hope to many."
Before leaving, he gave a final measured bow. Rena held herself motionless until he disappeared through the doorway. The physician, who had remained silent in the corner, cleared his throat softly and slipped out as well, likely eager to avoid any political entanglement. Now father and daughter were alone once more, the tension in the room throbbing like a recent bruise.
King Darius let out a long, shaking breath. "I detest these verbal duels, especially when I can't muster full strength. But you held yourself well, Rena."
Her shoulders slumped, relief mixing with frustration. "Thank you. It's exhausting, dancing around his insinuations. He wants to sound cooperative but always steers the conversation toward more power for himself. And I can sense how ill-suited you are for a battle of words right now."
A tired chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Yes, but I must wage them anyway, for the crown's sake. Still, having you there helps. Even in your short time at court, you see through his ploys, and that's a rare gift."
She offered a small, grateful smile. "One day, I hope to do more than just see through them—I want to dismantle them for good. But I'll need guidance and allies." After a brief silence, she added softly, "I should let you rest now. The physician seemed pleased with your progress, but you need quiet."
King Darius closed his eyes as if agreeing. "Yes… come see me later, and we'll discuss how the meeting with the envoys finishes up."
Bending down, she briefly clasped her father's hand, her heart aching at how frail it felt. Yet that grip held an unspoken confidence in her, a belief that she was capable of defending the realm he had once protected. With a final dip of her head, she turned and left the chamber, feeling Severin's presence still lingering in the corridors like a faint, cold draft.
The moment she stepped into the hallway, she found Gareth waiting. He must have heard echoes of voices within. A single look at her face apparently told him enough—he placed a hand on her elbow in reassurance as they walked.
"How did it go?" he asked quietly.
"He wants heavier taxes for the guard to handle alleged bandits," she said, bitterness coloring her voice. "Father refused to commit without seeing actual details. At least for now, we're holding him off."
They fell into step together, moving through the palace's labyrinth of corridors. A warm afternoon sun now poured through high windows, bathing the tapestries in rich colors. Occasional servants bowed or curtsied, though Rena scarcely noticed. She was lost in thoughts of how Severin might retaliate. A cornered man was often the most dangerous, and she suspected that her public display of healing would rankle him deeply.
Eventually, they reached the upper balconies that overlooked a courtyard, where a small fountain burbled among trimmed hedges. Rena paused, relishing the hint of fresh air wafting in through the open arches. She felt Gareth's eyes on her.
"You've accomplished a lot today," he said gently. "Healed the Drenvale envoy's attendant, held your ground with Severin, comforted your father. You should take a moment for yourself."
She offered a weary grin. "That does sound appealing, but I'm not sure we have the luxury. Lady Halene might be expecting me back in the council chamber, and the envoys may have more questions. Plus, Aunt Sorren always said rest is important, yet paradoxically so is consistency. She taught me to keep going until I'm sure I've done all I can."
He smiled at the mention of Aunt Sorren. "She sounds wise, but even wise people know we can't pour from an empty cup."
Rena sighed. "I'll rest soon, I promise. Just not until I've spoken to Mother and learned if the envoys require anything else."
They started descending a grand spiral staircase, its handrail fashioned from polished oak. Down below, pages dashed back and forth, carrying messages. Lady Halene stood near a pillar, a furrow in her brow, speaking to one of the Imlera attendants. Spotting Rena and Gareth, she gestured for them to come over. Even from a distance, the tension in her face was evident.
"Princess," Halene said in a subdued rush once Rena was close, "Ambassador Kaian and Lady Cassira were hoping for a chance to speak with you privately before tonight's formal dinner. They seem… quite intrigued by your healing. They even mentioned they might have injuries or ailments among their own party members that could benefit from your power."
Rena's eyes widened. The thought of turning her gift into a clinic for foreign guests unsettled her, though she understood their interest. "I don't want to refuse them outright," she murmured, glancing at Gareth. "But I'm already tired. And if I treat them all, it might create an expectation that I can cure anyone on demand."
Halene gave a sympathetic nod. "Indeed. However, we must tread delicately. If you rebuff them, they might question your sincerity or suspect your abilities aren't genuine. A compromise might be best."
Gareth's voice was thoughtful. "Maybe you can offer to examine one or two individuals, and if their ailments aren't severe, a minor healing gesture could suffice. That would confirm your gift without promising to fix every malady."
Rena pressed her lips together, then said, "All right. Let's see who they want me to look at. But I must be careful not to overextend myself." She briefly imagined the uproar if she fainted halfway through a healing in front of Imlera's or Drenvale's delegates, or if she gave the impression that a princess's role was merely to be a traveling medic. She was determined to present herself as more than just that.
Halene took them into a smaller drawing room off the corridor, where Ambassador Kaian and Lady Cassira waited. Both rose at Rena's entrance, bowing graciously. The slender Imlera woman—Lady Cassira—wore the same flowing turquoise robe as before, and her eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and courtesy. Kaian, his white-streaked hair tied back, clasped his hands behind his back in a gesture of respect.
"Princess," Lady Cassira began softly, "we apologize if this request is presumptuous. Word travels quickly in the palace—Briand of Drenvale is already up and about, praising you as the one who saved him from the edge of death."
Rena offered a polite bow in return. "I'm glad he's recovering. It was a sudden crisis."
Kaian nodded. "Indeed. We wondered if, before tonight's dinner, you might—if you feel able—provide relief to a member of our party. One of my guards suffers from chronic pain in his leg, a remnant from a war injury. It would help him greatly to walk with less agony, but we understand your power is not an infinite resource."
She appreciated the careful phrasing. They recognized her ability had its limits. Clasping her hands, she answered, "I'll examine him, and if my gift can ease his pain, I'll do what I can. However, please understand I may not be able to fully cure every ailment."
"That's most generous," Lady Cassira said, relief softening her features. "We merely ask you try. There's been much distrust among my people about anyone claiming miraculous talents. Yet seeing you in action might open minds back home."
Rena regarded them, glimpsing the sincere hope in their eyes. She wondered how many in Imlera had grown cynical from charlatans or false prophets. If she could help even a little, perhaps that truly would strengthen trust between Silverstrand and Imlera. And in a realm teetering on internal strife, outside alliances might become essential.
Halene arranged for the guard in question to be brought to a small sitting room with comfortable chairs and decent light. Rena insisted on a brief rest beforehand, retiring to a side chamber to sip water and compose herself. Gareth stayed nearby, occasionally pacing. Despite her fatigue, she found a strange sense of purpose fueling her. Each healing, though draining, stood as a tangible answer to Severin's scorn. A princess not just in name, but in actions that bridged kingdoms.
When at last she encountered the Imlera guard, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Haris, he gazed at her with cautious respect. He explained that a spear thrust years ago had damaged tendons in his thigh, leaving him with perpetual aches that flared whenever he stood too long. Through halting words, he admitted to living in constant discomfort, especially while traveling on behalf of Imlera's leaders. Rena asked him a series of gentle questions, wanting to gauge the problem's nature and severity.
Then, with the guard's consent, she knelt by the chair, placed a hand over his injured leg, and summoned her healing warmth. This time, the silver glow shimmered faintly, no dramatic crisis overshadowing them. She felt the tightness in his muscles, the dull throb of old scar tissue, and did her best to coax relief, weaving the soft pulses of energy wherever she sensed damaged tissue. Her breath came shallow, but she kept herself grounded in the comforting awareness of Gareth standing behind her, and Halene watching with quiet concern.
After a short while, she withdrew her hand. Haris rotated his leg carefully, blinking in awe. He murmured that the pain had ebbed, no longer a biting ache every time he shifted his weight. Cassira, who had been observing, exhaled a shaky breath and offered heartfelt thanks, calling Rena's act a gift not just to Haris but to Imlera's perception of Silverstrand's benevolence.
"That's all I can manage right now," Rena said gently, rising on unsteady feet. "You may still feel twinges, Haris, but it should be less severe. If your leg troubles you again, please rest."
He bowed low, genuine gratitude shining in his dark eyes. She felt her pulse thud in her ears, drained once more, though not as intensely as when she'd healed Briand. Halene discreetly signaled a servant, who offered Rena a supportive arm and ushered her to a quiet corner where she could gather her composure. The entire exchange likely lasted no more than a few minutes, yet she realized that each such demonstration gradually reshaped how the envoys and their attendants viewed her—and, by extension, Silverstrand.
Once Haris and the others departed, Gareth moved close, quietly urging her to go back to her chambers to rest. She hesitated, concerned about leaving Lady Cassira and Ambassador Kaian with unanswered questions. But Halene assured her that the formal dinner tonight would provide ample time for more discussion, and Rena needed to replenish her strength if she hoped to participate fully. She relented, letting Gareth guide her through an adjacent corridor toward the princess's wing of the palace.
A hush had settled in these halls, most of the day's commotion centered in the public areas. Treading past dark oil paintings and the occasional guard on duty, Rena tried to sort out her swirling thoughts. Her father's wary battle of words with Severin. The foreign guests' curiosity about her healing powers. The stinging memory of taxed villagers, balanced precariously against the threat of bandits. And an undercurrent of longing for the simple quiet she once enjoyed in Whisperwood, searching for herbs with Aunt Sorren at her side.
A wave of homesickness washed over her, startling in its force. She missed the smell of pine needles underfoot and the sound of the cottage door creaking at dawn. Aunt Sorren had always been her anchor; how strange it felt to be forging ahead without her gentle guidance. Yet she reminded herself that she had found a family here, too, and a kingdom that needed her. Letting out a careful breath, she vowed to keep going.
They finally reached her bedchamber, and Gareth gave a reassuring nod as he opened the door. "I'll stand watch outside," he offered, "or close by, in case you need anything."
She gave him a look of gratitude. "Thank you. I'll only lie down for a short while. Then I'll see about the formal dinner."
Inside, she let the door close quietly behind her. The room was tranquil, late-afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows, illuminating the soft drapes and the neatly made bed with its embroidered coverlet. With unsteady steps, she crossed to the armchair near the window and sank into it, too restless to climb into bed just yet. Her limbs felt weighted, every muscle reminding her of the energy she'd poured into healing.
For a few minutes, she watched the sky shift from blue to golden as the sun dipped lower. The courtyard below was near empty, servants likely preparing the great hall for dinner. She thought of how little time had passed since she first arrived at this castle, uncertain of her identity. The whirlwind of revelations—her father's illness, Severin's scheming, her own gift tested in public—left her feeling like she had lived a lifetime in mere weeks.
Reaching beneath her gown, she touched the pendant that bore Silverstrand's moon-and-lily crest. In a way, that small metal trinket had led her here, but her choices had shaped the path. A quiet voice inside reminded her that, no matter how tangled the politics became, she had made a commitment to stand beside her newfound family and her kingdom. The sense of purpose buoyed her tired spirit. Even as her lids grew heavy, she found a flicker of hope unbroken by the day's trials.
Eventually, she dozed off, lulled by the gentle hush of the palace and the lingering warmth of sunlight. She dreamed of whispering pines and a silver glow in the forest, of Aunt Sorren's voice telling her that a healer's compassion was both her shield and her burden. She dreamed of King Darius standing taller, free from pain, and of Severin's eyes narrowing as he witnessed a kingdom rising to unity. When she awoke, shadows had lengthened across the room, and a soft tap at the door told her an attendant had come to remind her of the dinner that would soon begin.
Summoning the resolve to stand, she willed her weary limbs into motion. Though she was not fully rested, the brief slumber had steadied her enough to greet the evening's obligations without faltering. She straightened her gown, tugged at the braids that had loosened slightly, and breathed in. The halls called. The envoys, the nobles, Severin—none would wait. If the day's events had proven anything, it was that every moment counted in asserting her place as princess and in safeguarding the kingdom's precarious balance.
She opened the door to find Gareth ready, his concern evident yet tempered by respect for her determination. Without a word, they set off together, prepared to face whatever fresh challenges might unfold in the banquet hall. As they moved into the corridor's light once more, Rena whispered a vow to herself: she would walk forward on this path—healer, princess, daughter to a king—no matter how steep or tangled it became, offering solace and will in equal measure, for the sake of Silverstrand's future.