Chapter 180: Chapter-180

As Elara entered the Fourth Princess’s Palace—the same place she had once been brought to—she couldn’t help but notice the difference. Before, it had felt cold. Sealed. Like a palace meant to be abandoned rather than lived in.

Now, there were flowers. Greenery. People moving about, servants and guards alike, life returning to the halls.

As she passed, everyone greeted her respectfully. Elara responded with brief nods, her pace unbroken, until she reached her chambers.

The doors closed behind her.

Just because she was “only” a princess—and because she had long since abandoned extravagant gowns and useless formalities—didn’t mean she could dress however she pleased. These people treated jewelry like a divine necessity.

She had already refused heavy necklaces and thick chains, but even so, the bracelets on her wrists felt exhausting. The cufflinks, the brooches—each one added weight she didn’t need.

And then there was the cape.

A blue one.

The emperor wore red. And since she was acting as his stand-in, she was required to wear something similar. The fabric itself wasn’t uncomfortable—soft, finely made—but having something constantly resting on her shoulders was irritating all the same.

She pulled it off and tossed it onto the sofa.

Two servants entered quietly and knelt, bowing low. They were about to step forward to assist her when Elara raised a hand.

“I want to be alone.”

They froze, then nodded immediately before retreating from the room.

Elara removed the brooches and placed them on the nearby drawer. As she worked at unclasping one of the bracelets, a sudden knock echoed through the room.

She paused.

The knock came just as Elara was wrestling with the third bracelet.

“Your Highness, may we come in?”

Demerti’s voice. Subdued. Which meant either bad news or he was still feeling guilty about dragging her to work the moment she’d opened her eyes. Probably both.

“Come in.”

She didn’t turn around, continuing to work the stubborn bracelet clasp with her other hand. The thing had been designed by someone who apparently believed jewelry should be permanent. Behind her, she heard the door open and multiple sets of footsteps enter.

“What type of poison was I given?”

The footsteps stopped.

Silence.

Elara finally got the bracelet off and set it on the vanity with a satisfying ’click’, then turned to face the room.

Demerti stood near the door, expression carefully neutral but eyes tight with anxiety. The physician—Cullens—stood beside him, medical case in hand, face doing something complicated. Ken and Marcus flanked the doorway, having apparently decided their post-rotation rest could wait given the summons.

Cullens bowed deeply, taking visible time to compose his response.

“Your Highness, we attempted to identify the compound through standard imperial toxicology protocols.” He straightened, maintaining professional tone with visible effort. “The substance is… unique. We found no matching entries in the imperial medical archives. Nothing in the merchant guild’s poison registry. Nothing in the military’s restricted compounds database.”

Elara set down the second bracelet. “Meaning it was custom made.”

“That would be our conclusion, yes.” Cullens shifted slightly. “Furthermore, Your Highness, the manner in which your body responded to it suggests the compound was specifically tailored. The molecular structure—if you’ll forgive the simplified explanation—appears designed to interact with royal bloodline magic in particular. A standard person who inhaled that compound would likely have experienced mild drowsiness and recovered within hours.”

“But royal magic amplified the effects.”

“Dramatically, yes. The compound essentially weaponized your own power against you. The more magic your body attempted to use in self-defense, the more the poison spread.” He paused. “In some ways, your alexithymia actually protected you—your body’s emotional regulation differences meant certain panic responses that would have accelerated the poison’s spread simply… didn’t activate.”

Elara processed this. “Who could manufacture something that specific?”

Cullens and Demerti exchanged a glance.

“Someone with access to royal bloodline research,” Demerti said carefully. “Which narrows the field considerably.”

“How considerably?”

“Three imperial research divisions. Two private academies. And…” He hesitated. “Your mother’s old laboratory notes. Which we believe were accessed recently.”

Elara filed this away. “Condition and progression. What happens next?”

Cullens’s expression shifted.

The professional composure he’d maintained cracked slightly at the edges. He reached into his pocket and extracted a handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead—a nervous gesture that was completely at odds with his usual steady demeanor.

Elara studied him.

She’d seen this man deliver death sentences to patients without flinching. She’d watched him tell the Emperor himself that certain treatments were inadvisable, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He was not a man who was easily rattled.

He was rattled now.

’Interesting.’

Looking at his expression—the sweat, the careful avoidance of direct eye contact, the way he kept shifting his weight—Elara ran a quick assessment.

If this had been the old Fourth Princess, the one who’d been passive and frightened and utterly non-threatening, he probably would have delivered whatever news this was with clinical detachment. Maybe even relief at having an answer, however unpleasant.

But this Fourth Princess had sent guards flying with magical discharge. Had conducted mass staff interrogations. Had broken a steward’s hands without blinking. Had restructured entire administrative wings and survived assassination attempts with something approaching boredom.

He was scared of how she’d react.

“Speak your mind,” Elara said. “Clearly. Without hedging.”

Cullens swallowed his own saliva audibly.

“Your Highness. While I have no antidote for the compound—and I want to be transparent that no antidote currently exists in any resource available to me—I have identified a mechanism of management.”

“Management, not cure.”

“Correct. The poison is not… fully eliminated, Your Highness.” He wiped his forehead again. “It’s in a dormant state currently, suppressed by your royal bloodline’s natural defenses. However, it will reassert itself. Based on the compound’s documented properties from what partial literature I could find, it activates in cycles.”

“How often.”

“Every three to four days, Your Highness. Each activation will be similar to what you experienced—magical overflow, physical distress, potential loss of consciousness.” He paused. “Without management, each cycle will be progressively worse as your body’s defenses are gradually depleted.”

Elara set down the cufflink she’d been holding. “And the management method.”

Cullens looked at her.

Then looked at the floor.

Then at the wall.

Then at a spot approximately six inches above her left shoulder.

Anywhere, apparently, except directly at her face.

He took a breath.

Let it out.

Took another one.

“Your Highness,” he said finally, voice achieving a remarkable neutrality that Elara recognized as someone performing the same emotional suppression she herself practiced daily. “The poison’s mechanism operates on the principle of magical resonance destabilization. Your body’s power becomes… dysregulated. Incoherent. It loses the internal structure that keeps it contained and controlled.”

“I’m aware. I experienced it.”

“Yes. Well.” Another breath. “The management method works by introducing an external source of stable magical resonance. One that can… anchor your body’s magical field during the activation period. Re-establish coherence before the overflow becomes critical.”

“What constitutes an appropriate external source.”

Silence.

Cullens dabbed his forehead with enough intensity to remove the skin.

“It would need to be a source of significant magical output. Compatible with royal bloodline frequency. Capable of sustained resonance transfer over an extended contact period.” He stopped. Started again.

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