Behind the Royal Mask

No Choice

Beatrice lay motionless on the grand bed, her face pale yet serene. The chaos from hours before seemed a distant memory in this hushed space, though the tension in the air lingered like a ghost.

Elara sat at Beatrice's side, her usually steady hands trembling as she dipped a clean cloth into a basin of warm water. She wiped the blood and grime from Beatrice's face with gentle, practiced movements. Tears streaked down her own cheeks, her sobs muffled as she worked.

Her gaze dropped to the bowl of water, the clear liquid now tinged pink with the remnants of the battle. The sight made her stomach churn, and another sob escaped her lips. 

Her hand faltered as she wrung out the cloth. She couldn't shake the image of Cedric—the vibrant, teasing knight—being struck down, blood staining his armor, his body dragged away as if he were nothing more than a piece of refuse.

Why is everything is falling apart?" she murmured brokenly, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief.

The door to the chamber swung open abruptly, and Elara's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face paling further. Prince Caelon strode in with his usual commanding presence, followed closely by the royal physician, a wiry older man with sharp eyes and a perpetually furrowed brow.

Elara quickly wiped her face, standing to bow slightly, though her hands trembled at her sides. "Your Highness," she murmured, her voice hoarse from crying.

Caelon ignored her, his piercing gaze fixed on Beatrice's still form. His expression twisted with impatience and irritation as he gestured sharply to the physician. "Check her. Now."

The physician stepped forward, setting down a small leather bag by the bedside. He glanced at Elara briefly before leaning over Beatrice. With a practiced hand, he touched her wrist, feeling for a pulse, then pressed his ear to her chest. He moved efficiently, his face impassive as he examined her.

After a few moments, he straightened, frowning deeply. "Her pulse is faint but steady, Your Highness. However..." He hesitated, running a hand through his thinning hair. "This affliction—it's unlike anything I've encountered. The symptoms are subtle yet troubling. It may take time to determine the nature of the poison and develop an antidote."

Caelon's sharp gaze flicked to Beatrice again, his lips curling into a sneer. "While you're at it, confirm if she's carrying a child."

Elara's head snapped toward Caelon, her frown deepening in confusion and indignation. It was too soon to confirm anything.

The physician gave a curt nod and turned back to Beatrice, his movements more tentative this time. He pressed his hands lightly against her abdomen, probing gently, then checked her pulse again, his expression growing more uncertain. After a moment, he stepped back, his face pale.

"It is... unusual, Your Highness, but there are subtle indications," he began, his voice shaking. "Her body shows signs consistent with early pregnancy. Though I admit, it's rare to detect so soon."

Elara's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing. That's impossible... It can't be. She stared at the physician, her frown deepening as confusion and disbelief warred within her.

Caelon's glare could have melted steel. "Find an antidote," he growled, his tone deadly. "And if you value your life, you will ensure her full recovery. Do not return until you have answers."

The physician quickly gathered his tools, bowing repeatedly as he backed toward the door. "Of course, Your Highness. I will begin immediately."

Caelon turned on his heel, sparing one last disdainful glance at Beatrice before storming out of the room. The physician hurried after him, leaving Elara alone once more in the suffocating silence.