Days flew by with the palace settling into a cold routine.
Daphne spent her mornings at the Emperor's side, her afternoons going over scrolls and mortar bowls, and her nights staring at the emptiness of her marriage bed.
The pills were finally ready; small, pale spheres she had painstakingly crafted to strengthen blood and quicken its renewal.
Enough for the transfusion and yet… her own life felt as though it was draining drop by drop.
Alaric had only entered their chamber twice in all those days, and both times she had been deep in sleep, lost to exhaustion.
By the time she woke, he was gone.
Alice had told her that the Regent had come, that he had lingered by her bedside, but Daphne never saw him.
She never felt his warmth beside her.
They only spoke when duty demanded it. A clipped exchange about the Emperor's care. A brief nod when passing in the corridor.
Nothing more.
