Chapter Title: The Unseen Game
Bryant's POV
The morning light filtered weakly through the high windows of my study, casting long, sleepy rays across my desk. Papers were scattered in organized chaos—petitions, boundary dispute reports, the military's weekly update.
And then there was that file.
Red Blossom Pack.
The name glared back at me like a stubborn wound refusing to heal.
I hadn't opened it. Not because I didn't care. But because every time I tried, something in my chest twisted—like an instinct warning me to tread carefully. That file held truths, maybe answers. But it also held ghosts.
My quill hovered above a scroll when a knock landed sharp on the door.
"Enter," I said without lifting my gaze.
The doors swung open and a maid stumbled in, breathless and pale. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, and the moment she met mine, she fell to her knees.
"Your Majesty," she sobbed. "Her Excellency… Lady Maltida… she fainted. Please… your attention is needed."
The cry in her voice struck something deep. I dropped the quill instantly.
"Where is she now? Has the physician been called?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
"Yes, Your Majesty," she sniffled. "He is with her now."
I didn't wait for another word. I strode out with haste, my boots echoing across the stone floor. Kael was waiting with my horse already prepared, his face etched with worry. Without a word, I mounted the black steed, and we thundered toward the South Wing.
The entire ride there, my thoughts raced, my jaw tight.
Maltida had always been… dramatic, yes. Manipulative even. But fainting? That wasn't like her.
Unless— No. I wouldn't think it.
I reached her chambers faster than usual. Two maids rushed to open the door, bowing low as I passed. The room smelled of burning herbs and rosewater. She lay on the bed, curled in her silk sheets, her face ghostly pale against the embroidered pillows. Her chest rose and fell slowly, too slowly.
The physician stood beside her, placing herbs in a brass bowl, the scent sharp in the air.
"What happened?" I asked, not moving from the door. My tone was flat, unreadable even to myself.
The physician bowed. "Your Majesty…"
His voice trailed off.
"Speak," I said, sharper this time.
He hesitated, glancing once at Maltida's form. She shifted slightly under the covers, her lips murmuring something too faint to catch.
Then he turned back to me.
"She is—"
The rest of the sentence didn't land. Or maybe it did, and my mind refused to understand it.
I didn't move. Didn't speak.
The ground beneath me seemed to tilt.
My breath caught for a moment, just one. A brief second when every muscle in my body forgot how to function.
The room blurred around the edges.
The physician stepped back as though anticipating my reaction, but I offered none.
Not a single word.
I just stood there, hands clenched tightly behind my back, fingers white from pressure, jaw locked so hard I thought it might shatter.
My thoughts were no longer thoughts—they were noise. Roaring, deafening.
I looked at Maltida again. Her pale lashes rested against her cheeks, her hair sprawled perfectly, almost too perfectly.
The maids hovered by the edge of the room, trying to make themselves invisible. No one spoke. No one dared.
And still… I said nothing.
Because what the physician had told me wasn't something I could react to. Not yet. Not with words.
It was a bomb waiting to explode.
And somehow, I knew—it was only the beginning.
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