At the king’s sudden remark, Ayla’s hand slipped. Her knife clattered onto the marble floor with a sharp clang.

“What a shame. I confess I had held out some hope, wondering if perhaps the princess could see the future.”

Ayla’s heartbeat spiked.

‘Does he know something…?’

Theodore had mentioned something similar yesterday. Her stomach dropped—but fortunately, the king seemed to have spoken without deeper meaning.

Even so, the shock wouldn’t subside.

“Had that been the case, I might have already taken off your head. We’ve suffered enough damage thanks to that cursed ability.”

His cold voice sliced through her composure. Ayla accepted the fresh knife the servant brought, pretending not to react.

“Tell me, Princess, do you know who possesses that ability?”

In that moment, the blade brushed her fingertip.

“…Ah.”

A drop of red welled on her pale skin. Ayla hid her hand beneath the table, trying not to show the trembling in her breath.

But the king noticed.

“Was my question so troublesome? Your reaction is quite dramatic.”

He studied her as he lifted his wineglass again.

Ayla’s pulse hammered against her ears.

‘Don’t panic. You can’t use your ability now anyway.’

She started to shake her head, when Theodore’s voice cut in.

“That’s enough, Your Majesty.”

His cold tone loosened the suffocating tension just a hair.

“How rare. For you to defend someone.”

“I wasn’t defending her.”

Losing interest, the king set down his empty glass.

Theodore’s gaze shifted to Ayla’s untouched plate, and he rose from his seat.

“It seems we’re finished here. I’ll take my leave first. Come, Princess.”

***

Once the seemingly endless meal finally came to an end, Ayla stepped out into the garden, only to be overcome by dizziness.

She reached out to the tree beside her to steady herself.

Cold sweat trickled down her temple and dripped from her chin. Her pale complexion had turned ghostly white, as though she might collapse at any moment.

‘I feel… faint…’

Her vision swayed. Her throat burned dry, and a strange mix of heat and chills rippled across her skin, raising goosebumps.

Then a shadow fell over her.

Theodore—whom she thought had left immediately after the meal—had followed her out.

“What sort of trick is this supposed to be?”

“…?”

He stood at her side, brows drawn in suspicion.

“Didn’t expect you to take my side back there. You claim to dislike me—so is this a new strategy? Trying to win favor?”

Ayla didn’t even have the strength to lift her pen. She shook her head. But his expression only darkened, forcing her to pick it up.

〈I only stated the truth.〉

She scribbled the words with difficulty and tried to walk past him.

She would have, if he hadn’t stepped in front of her.

“Is walking off in the middle of a conversation something you learned in Melshid?”

〈Move—〉

Her vision flickered. Her body lurched sideways.

Startled, Theodore reached out instinctively, but Ayla immediately jerked back.

The way she flinched — almost recoiling from his touch — irked him in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Is something wrong?”

〈I said I’m fine. Just leave it.〉

But she could manage only a few more steps before her knees buckled again, and this time she almost collapsed.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and then her vision spun completely.

“Princess!”

Theodore caught Ayla as she collapsed, his expression hardening at once. Even through the thin fabric of her dress, her skin burned far too hot.

‘No… he’ll hate touching me…’

Even as her consciousness faded, Ayla weakly tried to push herself out of his arms.

“Stay still—”

He had meant to steady her, but his expression hardened the moment he saw her true state.

Her small face was covered in sweat. Her cracked lips had lost all colour. Although she had always been slim, she felt too light in his arms, as if she were a child.

It was as if she might disappear between his fingers.

“Dammit.”

Her long, pale lashes fluttered weakly, the movements growing slower and slower.

“Your Highness! W-what happened—? P-please, let me carry her!”

Derek arrived belatedly, panicked and reaching out, but Theodore lifted her easily into his arms.

“No. I’ll do it.”

He spoke sharply, but the arms holding Ayla were gentler than his voice.

A lock of her sweat-soaked hair brushed the back of his hand and an unreadable expression crossed his face: frustration, concern or something deeper that he didn’t want to name.

“There’s a limit to stupidity. How long did you plan on sitting there like this?”

***

“So. Why did she suddenly collapse?”

Theodore stood beside his own bed, staring down at Ayla, now tucked under blankets. Her complexion was better than before, but still far from well.

The palace physician looked uneasy as he bowed his head.

“There is no serious issue, Your Highness.”

“No issue? Impossible.”

Theodore shoved up his sleeves in irritation.

“Are you certain?”

The court physician—hair tied back loosely, posture shrinking under Theodore’s glare—nodded quickly.

“Y-yes. It appears Her Highness’s body simply could not handle the sudden intake of rich food.”

“…Food?”

“This sometimes happens. A malnourished body struggles to process heavy meals.”

Theodore froze.

“Malnourished? You do realize you’re talking about a princess?”

“O-of course.”

The physician rummaged anxiously through his herb satchel.

“However… Princess Ayla’s current condition is similar to what we see in those living outside the North Gate.”

“…What?”

Huddled together outside the North Gate were refugees who had been driven from their homes by the war. They lacked even the most basic survival necessities.

“Nonsense.”

But then, from behind the physician, his assistant—a scruffy-haired boy who looked barely fourteen—muttered:

“That’s not it.”

“Hush!”

The doctor hit the boy on the head. His shaggy hair covered half his face as he sulked and rubbed his scalp.

Before he could say anything else, the doctor hurriedly pulled out a small bottle.

A white liquid sloshed around inside the clear glass bottle — its colour eerily similar to that of the antidote in Ayla’s drawer.

The doctor carefully tipped the liquid into the boy’s mouth.

“If she sleeps a while, she should recover. For now, please limit her meals to foods easy to digest.”

In a fluster, he snapped his bag shut, grabbed his assistant, and fled the room.

“Malnourished… worse than a beggar.”

Theodore snorted, standing guard beside her bed like some grim sentry.

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard recently.”

The niece doted on by the King of Melshid? No one in their right mind would believe such nonsense. And yet… he couldn’t dismiss it entirely.

Because he could see her pale wrist, limp outside the blanket—so thin it looked fragile enough to break.

“She does look even thinner.”

Theodore took a step back and raised his hand as if to measure her wrist. It had always seemed slender, but now it looked even thinner.

‘Come to think of it… she barely ate anything at the breakfast table.’

He recalled her listless movements as she pushed food around her plate, eating little. As if sensing his thoughts, Derek poked his head forward from behind.

“Well, yes. She hasn’t been eating much lately.”

Theodore slowly turned his head. Derek flinched instinctively at his cold, downward gaze.