Days turned into a rhythm of relief.
Across Eldoria, caravans bearing the Imperial crest rolled through gates, escorted by the Skyblade Knights.
Within them, sealed crates glowed, containing the first batch of vaccine.
"By decree of His Imperial Majesty," the heralds announced in each province, "the formula of Her Imperial Highness, Princess Daphne Blake, will be distributed to every kingdom under the sun."
The name alone stirred respect.
In the Imperial chambers, sunlight filtered softly through fhe curtains, falling over a bed where Daphne lay surrounded by her notes, unfinished letters, and a half-drunk cup of herbal tea.
Strict bed rest.
That had been Arin's command.
Alaric's decree made it absolute.
He hadn't left her side for more than a few hours at a time.
Every meeting, every military directive, he issued from a small desk near her bed. His armor had been traded for plain black robes, but his sword always within reach.
