At the far end of the hall, Fedric Lione had been quietly observing the exchange.
He had not come to eavesdrop but he had overheard enough.
A flicker of thought crossed his sharp eyes. Lady Rosellene...?
He exhaled softly, his mind already moving ahead to what this might mean, but he set the thought aside for now. There were other matters to attend to.
He had come to check on the knights injured during the day's sparring matches– and of course, the one currently groaning in the cot before him.
It was none other than Carlis Renard, still very much alive despite his dramatic display as he pressed a hand against his bandaged shoulder.
"Ugh," he muttered under his breath, glaring at the ceiling. "I swear, Lucien plays dirtier than usual."
Fedric glanced down at the figure sprawled out on the bed. Unfazed and unbothered.
Carlis turned his head slightly. "Fedric," he whined, "do you hear me? This is injustice."
Fedric exhaled. "You're fine."
Carlis scoffed. "I was nearly killed."
"You have a scratch."
"A grave injury."
"A scratch."
Carlis grumbled under his breath, shifting to a more comfortable position. "Still. He fights like a damn snake—when you think you've got him, the next second he's already wrapped around your throat."
"I don't recall you being this talkative after a loss," Fedric remarked dryly.
Carlis sat up slightly, wincing. "It's not the loss I mind. It's the fact that he's going to be smug about it for weeks."
Fedric sighed. "Then perhaps next time, don't be so reckless."
From across the hall, Lucien who had just entered, smirked as he overheard. "Oh? Did I hear my name?"
He props himself up on his elbow lazily as he sits on the adjacent cot. "I was wondering why my ears were burning."
Carlis threw a pillow at him.
"Get out of my sight, snake."
Lucien leaned back against the pillows with a satisfied smile. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Carlis. If I truly fought dirty, you wouldn't be talking right now."
Carlis shot him a glare. "Don't act innocent, you conniving bastard."
Lucien only laughed, utterly unbothered. "I don't act. I am."
Fedric simply shook his head, used to their endless bickering.
"A schemer and a reckless fool," Fedric muttered under his breath. "No wonder you two hate each other."
Carlis huffed. "I don't hate him. I just strongly dislike him."
Fedric ignored them both, already turning to leave. There were more pressing matters to think about.
---
Millie exhaled, her shoulders finally relaxing when Elise entered the room, her voice steady despite the urgency.
"Elena has returned with the physician," Elise announced, a touch of relief in her tone.
Without hesitation, Millie followed her out to meet them, just in time to see Elena ascending the steps, her cloak drenched and heavy with the rain. She had removed the outer layer, revealing the damp fabric beneath as she walked beside the physician.
Physician Alden entered, his expression calm and professional despite the late hour. He was accompanied by a young temple assistant, who carried his medical case.
Behind them, Camille, Celestine's maid, gave a brief nod before excusing herself. "I must inform my lady of the situation," she murmured before swiftly departing.
Elena despite the exhaustion evident in her eyes nodded at them. "Physician Alden is here, we should not delay."
Elise wasted no time. She stepped forward anxiously yet respectfully. "Please, Master Alden. Lady Rosellene is inside."
Alden gave a knowing nod. "Take me to her."
Inside the chamber, the fragrance of medicinal herbs lingered faintly in the air from earlier remedies.
As per custom, a veil had been drawn around the bed.
Even in illness, it was considered improper for a noblewoman to be seen in a disheveled state by a man outside her family—more by a physician who did not serve her household. It was a matter of propriety.
Rosellene lay beneath layers of blankets, her usually composed expression softened in fevered exhaustion.
Physician Alden stepped forward, he knelt just beyond the veil, his hands reaching out to take Rosellene's pulse through the fabric.
Millie and Elise stood at the side, waiting anxiously as his trained fingers carefully assessed her condition.
A moment of silence stretched, save for the soft crackling of the lanterns.
Then, he finally spoke.
"The fever is persistent, but it is not life-threatening," Alden calmly stated, "Her body is simply weakened—overexertion, exhaustion, and prolonged exposure to the cold. It has all taken a toll."
Millie exhaled softly, though her expression remained tense.
"Will My lady recover soon, Master Alden?" Elise asked hesitantly.
Alden hummed in thought. "With proper care, she should improve within a few days. However, her body is delicate in its current state. Her immune defenses are low, and if she is not monitored closely, complications may arise."
With that, he lifted his other hand, his fingers glowing faintly as warm magical energy gathered at his fingertips.
The soft glow spread like golden threads, weaving through the air before sinking gently into Rosellene's body. The warmth seeped into her skin, chasing away the deep chill that had settled in her bones.
Rosellene's furrowed brows slowly eased.
Her labored breathing evened out as the tension in her limbs melted away and a calm, dreamlike stillness overtook her.
Millie pressed a hand to her chest, whispering silent gratitude.
"She will rest more peacefully now," Alden murmured as he withdrew his hand, the glow fading from his fingertips. "I will prescribe some medicine to aid her recovery. Ensure she consumes warm liquids and avoids any further exposure to cold"
Elise immediately retrieved a parchment and ink, ready to take down the list of prescriptions as Alden began to write.
The peace was swiftly broken when the chamber doors burst open with little regard for etiquette.
Celestine and Elizabeth barreled into the room, their expressions tight with worry as they immediately rushed forward.
Their eyes landed on Rosellene immediately, their concern overriding any formalities.
Celestine strode to her bedside, her usual composure fraying at the edges.
"What in the heavens happened?" she demanded, her gaze flickering toward Millie.
Millie quickly bowed her head. "The physician has just treated her, my lady. Her fever should ease by morning."
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Elizabeth brushed past and knelt by the bedside. "Rosellene, can you hear me?" she whispered, frowning when she saw no response.
"She is asleep," Alden who had been watching with quiet patience, finally cleared his throat.
"Master Alden," Celestine, who had been tense this whole time, finally let out a breath of relief.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Alden gave a slight bow. "It is my duty, Lady Caldermere."
Celestine gestured toward Camille. "Please have him properly sent off. I will stay here a while longer."
In her words, Camille nodded, stepping forward and bowed. "Master Alden, I will escort you back."
Alden gave a final glance before turning towards Camille. "I will return tomorrow to check on her progress. If her condition worsens before then, send for me immediately."
Millie bowed deeply. "We are in your debt, Master Alden."
And then, Camille led him away, disappearing into the corridor, leaving behind a room that was finally quiet down, with the sound of the rain still falling out.
---
The hall leading to Azriel's study was expansive and quiet, the pulsing glow of enchanted lanterns casting elongated shadows against the stone walls.
Fedric moved with ease as he approached the tall door leading to the Supreme Commander's study.
Unlike the war rooms bustling with military influence, which carried the heavy presence of steel and discipline, this room held a distinct air of refinement.
Upon stepping inside, one was immediately met with the form of knowledge and strategy.
Towering bookshelves lined the walls, their spines filled with volumes of warfare, ancient text, and tactical records. Scrolls and documents were meticulously arranged on a mahogany desk, the scent of aged parchment mingling faintly with the cool scent of ink.
But the most striking feature of the room was the centerpiece that dominated the space.
The faint hum of magic thrummed in the air, emanating from the great map of the kingdom that stretched across the center of the room.
It was no ordinary map.
The vast square projection pulsed with a soft, otherworldly glow as if breathing with life. The terrain, the rivers, and the mountains were a miniature replica of the kingdom, woven together by the holy crystal's energy.
Cities and strongholds shimmered in golden hues, while areas of unrest glowed in deeper tones.
It was the lifeline of the Eryndor forces, a window into every corner of the realm, allowing it to display real-time shifts in the kingdom's state, it was a defense against unseen threats.
At the heart of it all, Azriel sat behind a grand ebony desk, his warm eyes scanning over the documents in his hand.
The light in the room shone brightly, powered by refined magic stones, a luxury only those of high standing could afford. It bathed the study in a soft luminance, casting sharp shadows along the intricate carvings of the walls.
His focus remained unbroken as Fedric stepped inside.
Fedric sighed and began sorting the documents that were left unattended.
A duty ingrained through time.