Chapter 7 – The Fevered Wing
It had been a month since I first opened my eyes as Princess Amethyst Celestria Rosaire IV — a month since Laurine Samaniego died in a burning sky.
It also been a moth since I saved the man from the alley and have the second encounter with Lucas. For a month, I continued my investigation and my work in the court of physician despite their hostility. I also strengthen my knowledge which I gained through reading medical and political books at the library.
It's been a month and yet, the nights still carried the scent of smoke and the sound of drowning.
The lake's darkness visited me often, slipping through the cracks of sleep. Sometimes I woke with my chest tight, the ghost of water in my lungs. But dawn came all the same — pale, unbothered, and cruelly soft.
"Your Highness," Ana's voice whispered as she adjusted the curtains, "you didn't sleep again, did you?"
I smiled faintly, hiding the tremor in my hands as I reached for the robe folded beside me. "Sleep is a luxury for those with peace of mind, Ana. We have neither, I'm afraid."
She sighed, her young face crumpling in concern. "You've been overworking. The physicians still gossip about what happened with Marquis Scalenia's son. They say you shamed them."
"Then perhaps," I murmured, "they should learn not to mistake arrogance for wisdom."
Ana froze midway through fastening my sash when a faint commotion echoed down the corridor. Rapid footsteps. A man's panicked voice.
"Is that—?" she began.
Before she could finish, the door burst open and a breathless footman bowed low, trembling.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness. Several servants in the eastern quarters collapsed overnight. High fever, vomiting, and fits— the physicians are being called—"
Ana gasped softly, but I was already moving.
"Prepare my satchel," I ordered, already reaching for the bundle of clean linen and herbs. "Tell them I'm coming to the north wing. Now."
"But, Your Highness—"
"Now, Ana."
⸻
The corridors of Rosaire Palace glowed with the muted gleam of morning. The north wing loomed ahead — the Physician Court, a place where I had earned only contempt since the day I first walked in.
When I entered, the air was thick with heat and noise. Physicians in heavy robes rushed about, shouting orders that clashed more than they helped.
"Separate the infected!"
"No, we must bleed them — the fever must be drawn out!"
"Boil wine, quickly—"
The chaos stung like a slap.
"Enough!" I called, voice cutting through the noise. "You'll kill them faster with panic than with illness."
Heads turned. Geroth, his beard sharp as his tone, fixed me with disdain.
"Oh, not again," he hissed. "The princess-turned-healer graces us once more. Have you not shamed us enough with your theatrics?"
"I didn't come for your pride, Master Geroth," I said calmly, stepping past him. "I came for the patients you're failing."
A cluster of servants lay on cots along the stone floor, faces flushed crimson. Their breaths came fast, labored. The smell — bitter and metallic — made my stomach twist.
I knelt beside a woman barely conscious, skin burning beneath my fingertips. Her pulse was rapid but shallow.
"High fever, nausea, tremors…" I murmured, examining her tongue — dry, coated white. "How long since the onset?"
A trembling apprentice replied, "Less than a day, Your Highness. After last night's meal."
Last night's meal. My thoughts flickered sharply.
Foodborne? Poisoned? No rash, no lesions. Systemic reaction— possibly metal contamination, or toxins in herbs.
Geroth scoffed behind me. "Do you intend to diagnose them by staring, Princess?"
I ignored him. "Fetch vinegar, charcoal, and clean cloths," I instructed. "And stop the bloodletting — now. It'll only hasten dehydration."
"Absurd," Geroth snapped. "We've treated fevers this way for generations—"
"Generations of deaths," I interrupted softly. "Let's not add more to the count."
He faltered — the first ripple of hesitation in the room.
I moved quickly, instructing attendants to boil water, to keep the patients shaded and cooled with damp cloths.
"Two of these cases are more severe," I noted quietly to the young apprentice who followed my movements with wide eyes. "If they start convulsing, add crushed mint and salt to the water. It will replace what their bodies lose."
The apprentice nodded, trembling but eager.
I turned toward the table where the servants' stew still sat — half-eaten, the broth congealed to a dull gray sheen.
I dipped a small spoonful and brought it to my nose. Bitter. Metallic.
"Bring me the herbs used for this," I said sharply.
A cook stepped forward, clutching a jar. "It's from the palace supplier, Your Highness. Same as always— except… the label was different this week."
I took the jar and examined it. The powdered leaves were tinted faintly gray — unnatural. I crushed a pinch between my fingers, then mixed it in a cup of vinegar. Within seconds, the solution turned dark, cloudy.
A hush fell across the court.
"This is lead contamination," I said, voice steady. "The herbs are tainted. Boil water for everyone who ate from this batch. Begin rehydration immediately."
Geroth's face paled. "Lead? Impossible. That would mean—"
"It means someone tampered with your supplies," I cut in. "Intentionally or not, these people would've died before sunset."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
I rose slowly, meeting Geroth's gaze. "If you doubt my word, test it yourself. But while you do, I'll be saving lives."
⸻
Hours passed. Steam clouded the ward, carrying the bitter scent of herbs and sweat. Servants whispered prayers between bouts of fevered sleep.
Ana arrived with bandages and cool towels, her cheeks flushed from running.
"Half the servants are recovering," she whispered later, handing me a basin. "The fever's broken for most. Geroth… he told everyone you were lucky."
I smiled faintly, wiping my hands clean. "Luck has nothing to do with knowledge. But let him believe what comforts him."
As I stepped outside, the corridor was quiet except for the soft echo of my footsteps. For the first time since waking as Amethyst, the palace itself seemed to watch me — whispering through the marble.
One month, and I was no longer the forgotten princess.
One month, and already the court stirred with unease.
They feared me — not for who I was, but for what I could do.
And in the kingdom where ignorance held power, knowledge was the most dangerous weapon of all.