Chapter 162: Chapter-162

Captain Vex’s expression hardened. “The news is contained, Your Grace. Only those in this room, Sir Ken, and her personal attendant know the full situation. The general staff believe she’s suffering from magical exhaustion. No one suspects poison.”

“Keep it that way,” Demerti ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “I want absolute information control. Anyone who speaks of this outside approved channels will be executed for treason. I don’t care about rank or service record. ’No one’ leaks this.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

Demerti turned back to the physician. “The suppressant you gave her earlier. Did it help at all?”

Master Cullens hesitated. “Marginally. Her temperature dropped by half a degree. Her pulse steadied slightly. But the cognitive symptoms persist, and the fever is already climbing again. Without knowing the exact compound, all I can do is treat symptoms and hope her body fights it off naturally.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace.” The admission clearly pained him. “This poison is unlike anything in my forty years of practice. It could burn through her system in hours, or it could last days. There’s simply no precedent.”

Demerti’s hand went to the letter again, fingers hovering above it without touching. “One-time activation. No residue. No known formula. Targeting cognitive function specifically while enhancing physical sensation.” He looked up, silver eyes hard as diamonds. “This is custom work. Expensive. Sophisticated. Whoever commissioned this has deep pockets and deeper connections.”

“We’re expanding the investigation to foreign alchemist guilds,” Vex said. “Checking for any unusual purchases of rare compounds in the past six months. Interviewing travelers who passed through the capital. It will take time, but—”

“We don’t ’have’ time,” Demerti snapped. “My Master is upstairs losing her mind while we stand here speculating uselessly.”

No one had an answer for that.

The mage-analyst spoke carefully. “Your Grace, there is one other avenue. The black market. If this formula exists, someone in the underground trade networks might recognize it. These people deal in substances the legitimate guilds won’t touch.”

“Then go,” Demerti ordered. “Bribe whoever you need to bribe. Threaten whoever needs threatening. Offer a reward—one hundred thousand gold to anyone who can identify this compound and provide an antidote. Make it clear we’re serious.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The mage bowed and hurried out.

Demerti stared at the letter for a long moment, then carefully folded it and placed it in a sealed evidence box. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “If I find out who did this, there won’t be enough left of them to bury.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise etched in ice and fury.

Master Cullens gathered his notes with trembling hands. “Your Grace, I should return to Master Elara. Monitor her condition, administer what comfort I can—”

“No,” Demerti said flatly. “She doesn’t need you hovering. Sir Ken is with her. He’ll keep her safe.” The words came out harder than intended. “You stay here and find me an antidote. That’s your only job now. ’Find it.’”

The physician bowed low. “I will do everything in my power, Your Grace.”

“Your power hasn’t been enough so far,” Demerti said, then waved a dismissive hand. “But keep trying. You’re dismissed.”

The room emptied slowly, leaving only Demerti and Captain Vex.

“Sir,” Vex said quietly. “If there’s anything—”

“There isn’t,” Demerti cut him off. He turned back to the window, watching the darkened palace grounds. Somewhere up there, three floors above, his Master was burning. “Just find whoever sent that letter. I want a name, Vex. I want to know who thought they could do this to my family and walk away.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Vex?”

“Sir?”

“When you find them…” Demerti’s reflection in the glass smiled, cold and terrible. “Bring them to me alive. I want them conscious for what comes next.”

Captain Vex saluted sharply and left.

Alone, Demerti pressed his forehead against the cool window glass and allowed himself one moment—just one—of helpless rage before locking it away again.

Control. Always control.

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.

.

Elara’s fingers gripped the bedpost, knuckles white with strain. The world tilted sideways—walls bleeding into ceiling, floor rising up to meet the lamp light that spun in lazy, nauseating circles. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale burning through lungs that felt too small, too hot, like someone had stuffed them with embers.

Her mind—what little remained functional through the chemical fog—clung to one single, crystal-clear thought:

*Poisoned. Vulnerable. Someone is coming.*

The logic was simple even through 10% clarity: whoever sent that letter wouldn’t just incapacitate her and leave the rest to chance. They’d capitalize. Strike while she was defenseless. Finish what the poison started.

She had to move. Had to get somewhere more secure. The door—was the door locked? Were there guards outside? Her memory scattered like dropped glass when she tried to remember. Everything before the heat was just… gone.

“Need to…” Her voice came out slurred, words catching on a tongue that felt too thick. “Move. Not safe here.”

Ken’s voice, distant and distorted: “Your Highness, you need to rest—”

“No.” She pushed off the bedpost, legs trembling beneath her weight. Each step was a calculated act of pure willpower over flesh that refused to cooperate. Right foot forward. Balance. Left foot forward. Balance. The floor seemed to ripple beneath her like water.

Three steps.

That was all she managed.

Her knee buckled without warning. The world lurched violently sideways. Her vision whited out completely—not gradually, but all at once, like someone had thrown a sheet over her eyes. Her heart hammered against her ribs, rhythm so fast and irregular it felt like it might tear through bone.

Collapse.

She registered the impact dimly—body hitting floor, shoulder taking the brunt, head narrowly missing the bedframe’s corner. Sound became muffled, distant, like she’d been plunged underwater. Someone shouted—Ken, probably—but the words dissolved into meaningless noise.

Then hands caught her. Strong, warm, lifting her with careful urgency.

Ken’s face swam into her failing vision—still blurred, still indistinct, but closer now. His mouth was moving. Saying something important probably.

She couldn’t parse it.

The exhaustion radiating from him was almost palpable, though. She could feel it in the slight tremor of his arms as he lifted her, the way his breathing came heavier than it should for someone with his training.

And she knew why.

Even through the chemical haze destroying her cognitive function, one piece of data remained accessible: her magic was leaking.

Raw, uncontrolled magical power bleeding out of her like arterial spray. The poison had shattered whatever mental barriers normally contained it, and now her bloodline’s strength was hemorrhaging into the environment. Into anyone who got too close.

Beast knights were stronger than humans. More resilient. Their enhanced physiology could withstand magical exposure that would kill a normal person outright.

But even they had limits.

Ken had been in direct contact with her for hours. Skin to skin. Her magic had been siphoning his energy like a parasite, draining his stamina to fuel her body’s desperate attempt to burn through the poison.

That’s why she’d requested five knights initially. Rotation. Fresh bodies to prevent any one person from being completely depleted.

But the poison had hit harder than expected, and now—

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