It was a relief that Princess had not succumbed to desperation severe enough to attempt that last, unorthodox method I mentioned; this restraint of hers spoke to the magnitude of her suffering far more than the hyperbolic exclamations she so frequently employed. She endured a harrowing wait for her sisters to return, as their concern grew when they did not see her at breakfast. My own experience was not much better, forced to listen to her endless laments about the unbearable pain. Yet, I bore it stoically, having been on the opposite side of this equation more than once.
“Fermina told me to check on you,” Rascal timidly announced, peeking her pretty head into the room. “Are you alright, Aufelia?”
“Good! You’re here!” Princess celebrated. “Come here! Help me up, Riatna!”
We entrusted Rascal with a list of ingredients and instructions, which I had endeavored to make simple enough for the cooks to follow. Off she went, her usual eagerness propelling her down the hallways at a run. She returned relatively quickly, having never been one to shy away from dashing through the mansion. Rascal informed us that a servant would deliver our request as soon as possible, though her curiosity prompted her to question a few matters that, to her, seemed nonsensical. I could not fault her inquisitiveness.
“How do you know all those remedies and stuff?” Rascal inquired. I had made Princess write down five different concoctions, ensuring that, statistically, at least one would be prepared correctly and prove effective.
“I have studied botany for a long time, girl,” Princess curtly replied, her mood sour and unwilling to engage further. She was, however, not being entirely dishonest. While her knowledge in the field could not rival that of an expert—or even an amateur like myself—she was not wholly ignorant. Princess’s studies leaned more toward the spiritual and cultural significance of flowers: Blood-blooms symbolized mourning, azaleas temperance, hyacinths sincerity, and night lotuses feminine modesty—just a few examples from my own familiarity.
Rascal, respecting Princess’s disposition, did not press the matter further. She reassured her sister that she had ensured the old court Magister would neither be involved nor notified. Rascal had, in fact, exceeded our expectations, even convincing Fermina to leave the situation in her hands, alluding to her own embarrassing encounters with the old magian. The bright-eyed child was visibly disappointed that we could not continue her portrait—unfinished, with the lower part of the skirts and the background still absent—but I implored Princess to deliver a message on my behalf, promising that after the evening prayer, I would gladly paint my favorite subject, and no pain would deter me.
Rascal remained by our side, an expert at lightening the mood and caring for the unwell. The cooks were not excessively slow in their service, though their promptness fell short of the efficiency I had once expected as Master of the house. Four of the five remedies arrived on a tray, steaming hot, carried by a familiar figure Princess immediately recognized.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Here is what you requested, Milady,” announced the stocky maid we had encountered the previous night during our little Artanical experiment. Despite what she had witnessed, her demeanor remained jolly as she placed the tray on the bed before us. “I apologize for the absence of Callima vinegar, Milady. We have yet to restock it,” she explained regarding the missing recipe. She introduced herself as ‘Lantur’.
Princess thanked the maid, hastily dismissing her, and turned to face the mirror, awaiting my instructions, which I promptly delivered, detailing the order in which we should proceed.
“You don’t like that maid, do you, Aufelia?” Riatna observed, noting the strained cordiality with which Princess had addressed Lantur. “Are you going to really drink all of that? They smell… pretty bad.”
“We’ll see,” Princess sighed, picking up the first cup—a bitter, slightly spicy concoction of ginger, garlic, and lime that caused us both to grimace with every sip. “Ugh… I hope this works.”
The results were mixed. Two cups and two bowls of various liquids proved far too much for Princess’s stomach. I knew she could not bear another drop, not in such quick succession. While the nausea had abated, the headache remained only partially alleviated. The lingering pain was something my simple home remedies could not fully address, now that I no longer had access to my alchemy desk. It was likely just our body regaining its strength after expending our precious lifespark in hexerei. At one point, it became necessary to excuse ourselves from Rascal’s presence and retreat to the toilet chambers—a room where one seldom seeks company. Though not the ideal setting for extended conversation, given the disagreeable odors, it afforded me the opportunity to inquire about Princess’s well-being.
“Aren’t you supposed to know? We’re supposed to feel exactly the same,” she grumbled, her mood darkened by the wasted day. “I feel terrible. Better, but… terrible. Maybe headaches get easier when you’re not in control. If that’s the case, I can’t wait for you to take over, as weird as it sounds. You can deal with this, then. I can feel my nausea returning just from being here… let’s get this over with.”
“Needless to say, you are in no condition to meet with my brother. The planting of my false will must wait until tomorrow,” I remarked. “I have been contemplating a few possibilities… The hand mirror, at times, may be somewhat inconvenient. I am merely speculating, but if you were to wear a locket with a polished back—a reflective surface—it could be discreetly held, allowing us to converse without drawing undue attention. I am mindful of your weariness, and dusk shall soon fall; at that time, I shall inquire as to where you keep your jewelry,” I added, ensuring that my thoughts were succinctly conveyed as we hastened to conclude our business in the unpleasant chamber and return to Rascal’s waiting presence.
“Thanks, Dubart. Really. You’re actually trying to figure this whole thing out while I’m just laying in bed, sick out of my mind,” she whispered weakly, her steps slow and unsteady as we made our way back.
“You are most welcome,” I replied, heartened by her sincere gratitude. It inspired me to redouble my efforts.
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