Born to be Empress

Chapter 7 - Food Poisoning

Phaedra's pov:

Several days passed with me practicing the harp, trying to learn belly dancing, and playing chess with a guard named Marcus when he wasn't on duty. It turned out that we were from the same village, though I couldn't remember him—he had left when I was very young. Still, he recognized me, and we've been good friends ever since. We were careful not to be seen together, though, because death awaited us both.

That's why we always made sure there were three of us in the room. Alina had assigned a slave who was completely loyal to her to keep watch, calling out if anyone approached. The three of us made for good company, and the days passed pleasantly.

The Emperor never invited me to his chambers again, though he occasionally chose a girl to warm his bed for the night. I rarely saw him in the hallways or when we were invited to entertain him and his guests. After much reflection, I came to accept that this was how my life would be from now on. I had to accept my role. I was nothing more than an insignificant harem dancer, after all—nothing more, nothing less. Dreaming of the Emperor was a utopia that would only lead me down unknown, dangerous paths.

It was Sunday evening, and the three of us had gathered to play chess and spend time together. Ever since I learned the game, I had grown to love it and played fanatically. Our hiding spot was the room where music lessons were held, a place rarely visited, especially at night. Marcus always joined us after his shift, bringing stories about life outside the palace, rumors circulating in the country, and other gossip. Earlier in the evening, we had sneaked into the kitchen and managed to take some bread, cheese, fruit, and apple juice.

We were devouring our food when a woman's scream echoed down the corridor, calling for help. Marcus immediately stood and rushed toward the sound, ordering us to stay behind. We remained in the room for several tense minutes while the palace fell eerily quiet. When Marcus didn't return, we decided to sneak back to our quarters.

In the corridor, we stumbled upon a grim sight. Several people lay on the floor, clutching their bellies in agony. Their faces were pale, and it was clear they were falling ill with something severe. My heart sank as I spotted a familiar figure among them—Malissa, a young slave who often cleaned our room and had become a quiet friend. Without thinking, I ran to her side.

-"Malissa, Malissa, can you hear me?" I asked, gently rocking her back and forth.

Her eyes fluttered open, and in a trembling voice, she whispered, "Juice... apple juice."

-"Do you want something to drink?" I asked, confused.

-"P... poison..." she murmured before slipping into unconsciousness.

Some guards arrived and, in a stern tone, ordered us back to our rooms. I mustered the courage to ask one of them for permission to attend to Malissa, and, to my relief, he granted it.

With the help of two other slaves, we carried Malissa to the room designated for sick slaves, as per the Emperor's orders. It seemed the Emperor feared this could be an epidemic.

Acting quickly, I placed my fingers into Malissa's mouth, forcing her to vomit. Then, I urged the other slaves to do the same for the other sick people. Though they looked at me with disgust, they reluctantly followed my advice.

I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the jar of apple juice, sniffing it carefully. The scent confirmed my suspicions—it had the distinct aroma of a herbal poison we used back in the village. There was no doubt in my mind: the juice had been poisoned. But who would do such a thing, and why?

With little time to waste, I began searching for Thymus vulgaris (thyme) tincture, knowing it was used as an antidote. I had seen the older women in my village use it to treat people who had ingested poisonous herbs.

I prepared thyme tea and carefully gave it to Malissa, who was already beginning to regain her color. Vomiting had helped expel much of the poison from her system. I instructed one of the slaves to prepare more tea and ensure it was given to every sick person.

After  an hour, the results were clear. The sick began to recover, their color returning as they looked healthier and stronger. Relief washed over me as I observed their improvement—I was completely satisfied with my work.

Exhausted, I returned to my room, eager to collapse onto my bed. Just as I was about to lie down, Alina approached me, her face tight with anxiety.

Here's an edited version of your dialogue for better clarity and emotional resonance:

-"Where were you, Phaedra?" Alina asked, her voice laced with concern.

-"I was helping the sick in the slaves' room. Why? What happened?"

-"Marcus is very sick," she said, her worry unmistakable. "He's dying!"

-"Oh, my gods!" I gasped in despair. "How could I not have realized? Marcus was the only one of us who drank the apple juice yesterday!"

I quickly got up and headed straight for the guards' quarters, where the sick guards were being kept. Alina tried to stop me, but I wouldn't listen. Bursting into the room, I announced to the healers that I had the remedy. They gave me skeptical looks and told me to leave, but I stood my ground.

Frantically, I searched for Marcus and finally found him. He was deathly pale and trembling violently—the poison was taking hold of him. It wasn't a good sign.

I acted quickly, forcing my fingers down his throat to make him vomit and expel whatever poison remained in his system. When he finally retched, the vomit was an ominous blue—a clear indication the poison had advanced too far.

One of the healers, who had been watching me from a distance, approached cautiously. "Why did you do that?" he asked, his tone curious but wary.

I explained my findings, detailing  its symptoms and my actions, as he listened with great attention. When I finished, he turned to one of the nearby slaves and ordered them to fetch a cup of apple juice from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the slave returned with the cup. The healer took it, brought it to his mouth, and sniffed the contents.

-"Don't drink it!" I cried desperately.

He stopped, gave me a long look, and then... smiled slyly.

-"How did you know?" the healer asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

-"One of the slaves told me about poison in the juice," I explained. "I went to the kitchen and smelled it. It had the same scent as a herbal poison the older women in my village used to kill mice."

-"And how did you know to make them vomit?" he pressed.

-"I know vomiting helps expel poison from the system," I answered honestly.

-"Well done!" he exclaimed, visibly impressed. "What did you do next?"

-"I gave them thyme tea."

-"Why thyme?"

-"The older women in my village used it in similar situations," I said.

-"I must confess, I'm very impressed. Are you a healer?"

-"No, no, not at all," I replied, feeling timid under his praise. "But I used to watch the healers in my village when they worked, and I picked up a few things."

-"Good for you!" he said with enthusiasm. "Do you realize you've saved many lives today?"

-"I... I didn't do much," I stammered, feeling embarrassed. My eyes drifted to Marcus, and I asked urgently, "What about him? What can we do for him now? I know the thyme tea won't help much at this stage."

-"Don't worry," the healer said reassuringly. "Your friend will be fine. Now that I know the cause, I'll prepare the proper medicine for him." His wide smile filled me with hope.

-"Oh, my gods! Thank you so much," I said, overwhelmed with gratitude.

-"No, thank you," he replied, clearly excited. He turned and ordered his assistants to prepare the necessary treatment for Marcus and the others.

As I turned to leave, the healer gently grabbed my arm. "Stay," he requested.

Before I could respond, a low growl echoed from the doorway. Both of us turned, startled, to see the Emperor standing there. His arms were crossed, his expression stern, and his eyes burned with anger.