The World Cannot Know

Chapter 34

Prince Sebastian

The minutes dragged on in a haze of despair and dread. I lay on the cold floor, my body feeling strangely numb and unresponsive. The tonic's effects were taking hold, rendering me powerless. My eyes were closed, though I could still hear the muffled sounds of the room around me—the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant murmur of conversations in the corridors, and the steady ticking of a clock somewhere nearby.

I could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of the guards as they stood watch. Their presence was a constant reminder of my helplessness. The room seemed to have shrunk to a mere cocoon of sounds and sensations, the physical world beyond my immediate reach.

The clatter of a metal tray being set down nearby made me flinch, even though I couldn't move to see what was happening. I heard the shuffling of feet, the faint rustle of fabric, and the quiet murmur of voices, but their words were indistinguishable. Every sound seemed to echo through the fog in my mind, amplifying my sense of isolation.

Footsteps approached with a deliberate cadence, and I recognized the distinct sound of someone entering the room. It was a slow, measured pace, unmistakable in its authority. The Queen, perhaps, or someone else of high rank. I strained to catch any details, but my body remained stubbornly uncooperative.

"I want a report on his condition," a voice said, clipped and commanding. It was the Queen, her tone brooking no argument.

"Yes, Your Majesty," another voice replied. It was the physician, though his footsteps were softer, more cautious.

I heard the soft rustle of fabric as the physician knelt beside me. His hands gently, yet firmly, checked my pulse and the rise and fall of my chest. I could almost feel the weight of his gaze, examining me with clinical precision.

"The tonic will take some time to fully affect him," the physician said quietly. "He's likely to remain immobilized for a while, but he should still be able to hear and be aware of his surroundings."

"Good," the Queen's voice was cold, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her tone. "He needs to understand the consequences of defiance. Ensure that he remains in this state until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the physician said.

The sounds around me seemed to grow quieter, replaced by a more immediate sensation: the press of hands gripping my shoulders and legs. My body, still under the influence of the tonic, remained unresponsive, but the tactile experience was unmistakable. Strong, firm hands lifted me from the cold stone floor, their grip both steady and unnervingly efficient.

As I was carried, the slight jostling of my body against their hold made me acutely aware of every movement. The hands, though careful, were resolute, their touch clinical and devoid of empathy. I felt the shift from the floor to the softness of a bed, my body sinking into the cushioned surface with an unsettling blend of relief and dread.

The hands that had lifted me now adjusted my position, ensuring that I was lying correctly, but their touch was clinical, almost mechanical. I felt the bed shift beneath me as they worked, the subtle changes in pressure and the occasional brush of fabric against my skin only heightening my awareness of their actions.

The Queen's voice came through clearly, her tone carrying a chilling resolve. "Undress him, I'll call for the princess"

The command from the Queen pierced through the haze of my thoughts, each word a brutal reminder of the reality I was trapped in. The rustle of fabric grew louder as the guards and the physician began their task. I could feel hands pulling at my clothing, their movements precise and unhurried, as if they were performing a routine procedure rather than a violation of my dignity.