Chapter 39 - Guilty
I carry my wife through the halls of my palace while blood stains my hands, and somewhere between one breath and the next, every person around me stops looking human.
The corridors blur together in gold and shadow as servants throw themselves out of my path fast enough to nearly trip over their own feet. Guards straighten so violently armor rattles against stone. Maids lower their heads immediately. No one speaks unless spoken to.
if someone speaks right now, I may kill them simply to silence the sound.
Ophelia lies against my chest unnaturally still, her body curled weakly toward me as though some instinct inside her still recognizes me even unconscious. Her dark hair spills over my arm in tangled waves, damp near the temples from sweat and tears and blood.
Gods.
The blood.
It stains the corners of her eyes in thin crimson streaks that continue trailing slowly down her face every few moments like her body itself has forgotten how to function properly.
I cannot stop looking at it.
Every few seconds my gaze drops again just to make sure she is still breathing.
There.
A shallow rise beneath my arm.
Too weak.
Another.
Still alive.
Relief crashes through me so violently it almost hurts.
Then terror follows immediately after because the breaths keep growing weaker.
My face remains expressionless.
Years of ruling taught me that.
A king who shows fear becomes vulnerable.
A ruler who looks uncertain becomes prey.
So while my entire world caves inward around me, my expression stays empty.
Cold.
Controlled.
Emotionless.
No one watching me now would know my thoughts are unraveling so violently I can barely hear the footsteps around me over the sound of my own heartbeat.
Elias walks ahead of me through the corridor, barking sharp orders toward the guards while Veronica clears servants from our path with visible threats of violence. Nathaniel runs ahead to prepare physicians while Jacline remains behind somewhere organizing the lockdown of the palace.
Lockdown.
The word echoes unpleasantly in my skull.
Because that is what this is now.
Not an investigation.
Not caution.
A lockdown.
No one enters.
No one leaves.
Every servant searched.
Every guard questioned.
Every guest monitored.
The second Ophelia collapsed, this palace stopped being a home.
Now it is a cage full of suspects.
And the worst part?
I trust none of them.
Not anymore.
Not even Elias.
The thought slides through me so suddenly it almost makes me sick. My gaze lifts slowly toward my uncle's back as he walks ahead of me.
Elias knows my wife better than most people in this palace. He knows where she hides sweets. Knows her habits. Knows mine.
He has unrestricted access to nearly every room in this castle.
And recently?
Recently he has not been himself.
Too angry.
Too distracted.
Too emotional.
Weeks of arguing with Veronica. Weeks of frustration building beneath that fake smile he wears whenever he wants the world to think nothing affects him.
If someone wanted to poison Ophelia...
Elias would know exactly how.
My grip tightens unconsciously around her body.
No.
No.
I force the thought away instantly.
Because suspicion is poison too.
Once it enters your bloodstream, it infects everything.
But the thought remains anyway.
Quiet.
Ugly.
Persistent.
The hallway stretches endlessly ahead of us while guards open doors before I even reach them. Every servant I pass lowers their eyes too quickly.
Guilty.
A maid trembles when she sees blood on my hands.
Guilty.
Two guards exchange a glance near the staircase.
Guilty.
One servant backs away too slowly.
Guilty.
I know it is irrational.
I know fear is twisting my thoughts into something ugly.
I do not care.
Someone poisoned my wife. Someone fed death to the woman carrying my child. And now every face around me looks dangerous. Ophelia shifts weakly against my chest. A small sound escapes her throat.
Not fully conscious.
Just pain.
The sound tears through me like a blade. I lower my head instantly.
"You're okay my love I'm here ."
"You're alright."
The lie leaves my mouth automatically.
Because I do not know how to say anything else.
She does not look alright.
She looks fragile.
Breakable.
And that terrifies me because Ophelia is not fragile.
She is soft.
Gentle.
Kind.
But never fragile.
The woman argued with me while I threatened kingdoms. Stood beside me in court while nobles called her traitor to her face.
She survived me.
Yet now she lies unconscious in my arms because someone hid poison inside chocolate.
We turn another corner.
The closer we get to our chambers, the quieter the castle becomes. Word spreads quickly in palaces. Faster than plague. By now everyone knows something happened to the empress. By morning the rumors will evolve into madness.
Poison.
Assassination attempt.
Dead heir.
Civil unrest.
Veronica will likely execute three people before breakfast simply to control panic.
A servant appears ahead carrying fresh linens.
The moment she sees me, she freezes completely.
Her eyes dart immediately toward Ophelia's unmoving body.
Then to the blood covering my hands.
Fear flashes openly across her face.
Not grief.
Fear.
My steps slow instinctively.
The servant pales instantly.
Elias notices immediately.
"Achille."
I keep staring at the servant.
Young.
Maybe seventeen.
Hands shaking.
Breathing too quickly.
Guilty.
The servant nearly drops the linens entirely.
Elias looks back at me carefully then.
Too carefully.
Like he is studying me.
I ignore it.
Because the servant is still trembling. Why is she trembling? Fear of me? Or fear of getting caught?
I take one step toward her.
She flinches.
My pulse spikes instantly.
Guilty.
"She touched the kitchens today?" I ask quietly.
The servant's face drains completely.
"I...I only delivered linens, Your Majesty."
Too fast.
The answer came too fast.
Elias steps between us subtly.
"Achille."
There is warning in his voice now.
I stare at him.
And for one horrible second I wonder if he is protecting her.
The thought hits so hard my stomach twists violently.
Because this is what paranoia does. It takes love and turns it suspicious.
It takes loyalty and makes it questionable.
It takes people you would once die for and makes you wonder if they are waiting for the right moment to stab you instead.
I hate it.
I hate this feeling.
But not enough to stop listening to it.
We finally reach our chambers.
The doors swing open immediately.
Physicians already wait inside.
Three of them.
All pale.
All nervous.
I carry Ophelia toward the bed slowly while physicians prepare supplies nearby with shaking hands.
I lower her carefully against the mattress.
The second my arms release her weight, panic flashes violently through me.
No.
Too far.
I immediately sit beside her again, one hand gripping hers tightly while physicians move around us cautiously.
Her skin feels colder now.
One physician steps forward carefully.
"Your Majesty, we need to examine..."
"If she dies," I say quietly, "I will skin you alive."
Silence falls instantly.
The physician swallows hard.
"I understand."
No.
He doesn't.
None of them do.
Because they are not looking at the center of their world slowly slipping away.
I brush hair carefully from Ophelia's face while physicians examine her.
Every time they touch her, rage spikes through me irrationally.
Too rough.
Too slow.
Too uncertain.
One physician hesitates too long before answering a question.
Guilty.
Another avoids eye contact.
Guilty.
One whispers something too quietly.
Guilty.
The paranoia keeps growing.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
And somewhere deep inside myself, I realize something horrifying: I no longer know if my instincts are protecting me or destroying me.