Chapter 21
Perock
“Healers! Call the healers now!” I roared, my voice hoarse with desperation as I scooped Lilia into my arms, her limp forms a crushing weight against my chest. I sprinted toward the medical chamber.
Her skin was icy to the touch, her face drained of all color, and black tendrils—vile, writhing marks of the dark magic’s poison—crawled from the wound on her side, spreading across her body like a malignant web, attacking not just her flesh but her very soul.
“Don’t let Anna know about her mother’s condition,” I barked at Sam, the captain of the guard, who rushed to my side, his dented armor clanking, blood still seeping from a gash on his forehead.
“Tell her Princess Lilia is exhausted and needs rest. And lock down all information—no word of this leaves the palace, not a whisper.”
The timing of this attack, perfectly aligned with our delicate negotiations with Fellinger, reeked of calculated sabotage. The mastermind’s identity was no mystery—Jackson’s shadow loomed large over this treachery, his vendetta against me now threatening the lives of those I held dearest.
Sam nodded sharply, his blood-streaked face grim with unwavering resolve, and turned to relay my orders, his voice cutting through the chaos of the hall like a blade. “You heard His Majesty! Secure the palace and control all communications—move!”
Lilia sagged in my arms, her breathing shallow and uneven, the black tendrils now creeping toward her chest, their sinister pulse threatening to invade her heart.
My own heart hammered against my ribs, a torrent of fear surging through me, drowning every other thought in its icy grip.
I couldn’t lose her—not again. The five years of separation had already carved a hollow, aching void in my soul, a constant reminder of my failures as a man and a king.
If she died saving me from that cursed mist, the guilt would be a wound I’d carry to my grave, a burden I could never escape.
The medical chamber was a hive of frantic activity as I burst through the heavy oak doors.
Healers and mages crowded around a stone table at the center, their faces taut with urgency as they prepared spells, potions, and surgical tools.
I laid Lilia gently on the table, her golden hair fanning out against the cold stone, stark and luminous against her deathly pallor.
The black tendrils had reached her collarbone, inching ever closer to her heart, their malevolent glow pulsing like a mockery of life itself.
The air was thick with the sharp scent of medicinal herbs, the tang of ozone from active spells, and the low hum of magic crackling as the healers worked with feverish precision.
“Your Majesty, this is an extremely rare soul toxin,” the chief healer, Elira, a stern woman with steel-gray eyes and decades of experience, said as she leaned over Lilia, her hands glowing faintly with diagnostic magic.
Her voice was heavy with concern, her brow furrowed as she traced the tendrils’ path.
“Standard antidotes are useless against it. This poison targets the soul itself, eroding it from within until the victim is consumed by darkness and dies. If we don’t act swiftly, she won’t survive the night. ”
“There has to be a way,” I said, my voice trembling despite my desperate effort to keep it steady, my resolve unyielding as iron. “Whatever it takes, whatever the cost, you will save her. Find a solution—now.”
Even if it meant my life in exchange for hers.
An elderly female witch, her face etched with the lines of countless arcane rituals, stepped forward from the circle of healers, her voice hesitant but clear, carrying the weight of forbidden knowledge.
“There is one method, Your Majesty, but it’s extraordinarily perilous,” she said, her rheumy eyes meeting mine with cautious intensity.
“We could attempt to transfer the toxin, drawing it from her body into another host. A strong individual might withstand the poison long enough to fight it off and survive, though the odds are slim.”
Elira’s eyes widened, her head shaking in protest, her voice sharp with alarm. “Your Majesty, even the strongest warrior would struggle to survive such a transfer. The toxin is relentless, and the host would face almost certain death. The risk is too great—”
“But if it’s a fated mate,” the witch interjected, her gaze locking onto mine with a knowing glint, “the bond’s resonance could significantly increase the chances of success.
The spiritual compatibility between fated mates would make the host better equipped to resist the toxin’s corruption, though the danger remains immense. ”
“I’ll be the host,” I said, cutting them off, my voice firm and resolute, brooking no argument. “Prepare the ritual immediately. That’s an order.”
I wouldn’t let Lilia face another second of this torment—not when I could take the burden for her.
The healers exchanged alarmed glances, their reluctance palpable in the tense silence that followed.
“Your Majesty, you cannot take this risk!” Elira protested, her voice rising with panic, her hands clenching at her sides.
“You are the king, the cornerstone of this kingdom’s stability.
And with the curse already afflicting your body, adding this dark magic could be catastrophic—it could kill you outright or worse! ”
“This isn’t a request,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, icy growl, my eyes cold as steel, pinning Elira in place with the weight of my authority. “It’s a command. Begin the preparations now, or all of you have to answer for her death!”
I turned back to Lilia, her ashen face a stark reminder of what was at stake.
Her closed eyes, her faintly parted lips, her chest rising with labored breaths—every detail seared into my mind, fueling my determination.
One thought consumed me: I couldn’t lose her.
If saving her meant bearing both my existing curse and this soul-devouring poison, I would do it without hesitation.
No price was too high to keep her alive, to give her back to Anna, to give us a chance at the future I’d failed to build five years ago.
The healers moved swiftly, their protests silenced by the steel in my voice.
The chamber buzzed with urgent activity—candles were lit in a precise circle, their flames casting eerie, flickering shadows across the stone walls; intricate arcane symbols were chalked onto the floor, glowing faintly with a silvery light; and a low, rhythmic chant began, the elderly witch’s voice weaving a spell older than the palace itself, its cadence vibrating through the air like a heartbeat.
I sat beside Lilia on a low stool, gripping her hand tightly, her fingers cold but still soft, a fragile lifeline anchoring me to her, to the hope that this would work.
The witch began the ritual, her words a pulsing cadence that seemed to draw the air tighter, the temperature plummeting as magic thickened around us.
A bone-chilling cold surged from our clasped hands, a dark force slithering into my veins like liquid ice, sharp and invasive.
Pain erupted, a thousand unseen blades piercing my core, radiating through every nerve, every muscle.
I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding, refusing to let even a groan escape, my focus locked on Lilia’s face, on the faint hope that this would save her.
The black tendrils began to retreat from her body, their sinister glow fading from her skin, her chest, her arms, as if drawn by an invisible force.
Color returned to her cheeks, a faint flush of life, her breathing growing steadier, deeper.
But the relief was short-lived—those same tendrils reappeared on my arm, crawling up my flesh like living shadows, spreading with terrifying speed across my chest, my shoulders, their malevolent pulse sinking into my bones.
Inside, the toxin clashed with the curse already rooted in my body, two dark forces colliding in a brutal, internal war.
Each clash sent a wave of agony ripping through me, a torment that threatened to shatter my mind, my body buckling under the strain.
When the ritual finally ended, Lilia’s face had regained a soft warmth, her breathing now even, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of life restored.
I collapsed to my knees beside her, the pain a roaring inferno, my vision swimming with dark spots as I fought to stay conscious.
Black spirals now coiled around my arms, pulsing up to my wrists, a visible mark of the twin darknesses now battling within me—my curse and the soul toxin, locked in a fragile, deadly balance.
“Your Majesty!” Elira gasped, rushing to my side, her hands glowing with healing magic as she scanned my body, her face paling at what she found.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, my voice rough, my throat raw as I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling but refusing to give out. I gripped the edge of the table for support, my gaze fixed on Lilia, and turned to the elderly witch “How is Lila? Is she alright?”
“The toxin has been fully transferred,” the witch confirmed, her voice a mix of awe and deep worry, her eyes studying me with unease.
“She’ll recover, Your Majesty—she’s out of danger now.
But you… you now carry two lethal forces within you.
The curse and the toxin are in a fragile equilibrium, but it’s unstable, and it won’t hold forever.
Worse, the dark magic has amplified your curse’s potency, accelerating its effects.
Your time… it may be far shorter than we previously estimated. ”