Chapter 213: Chapter-213

It felt like ice was spreading through her veins. Like her blood was freezing solid. Like her bones were shattering and reforming and shattering again, over and over in an endless cycle of agony.

The pain was *indescribable*.

Like someone had taken her body apart piece by piece and was putting it back together wrong, slowly, deliberately, making sure she felt every excruciating second of it.

Tears fell from her eyes—the only part of her that could still move—but she couldn’t even cry out.

Just silent, frozen agony.

Around her, everything descended into chaos.

“GET THE PHYSICIANS! NOW!”

“SEAL THE AREA! NO ONE LEAVES!”

“PROTECT THE EVIDENCE! DON’T LET ANYONE NEAR THAT POISON!”

The System was screaming, “HOST! HOST, CAN YOU HEAR ME?! HOST!”

But Heena couldn’t respond. Couldn’t move. Could only lie there, trapped in her own paralyzed body, drowning in pain.

—

Back at the palace, Larus was still standing by the window when he heard it—

Running footsteps. Shouting. The sound of organized chaos that meant something terrible had happened.

He turned just as a guard burst into his chambers, not even knocking, his face pale and panicked.

“YOUR HIGHNESS!” the guard gasped. “Her Majesty—the Empress—she’s been poisoned! She’s collapsed! She—”

Larus didn’t hear the rest.

He didn’t even think.

He just *ran*.

He was in the middle of changing clothes—had only been wearing a simple white undershirt and pants, nothing else. The servants behind him were shouting, trying to give him a proper outer robe, but he didn’t care.

He ran out of his chambers, down the corridors, through the palace gardens.

His white shirt became transparent with sweat as he sprinted. He didn’t care. Didn’t notice. Didn’t slow down.

He had never felt like the path to the Empress’s palace was so *long* before. Every corridor seemed to stretch forever. Every staircase took an eternity to climb.

His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst. His lungs were burning. His legs felt like they might give out.

But he kept running.

*Please. Please let her be okay. Please.*

He finally reached the Empress’s palace—the medical wing where they’d taken her—and tried to rush inside.

The guards stopped him immediately, crossing their spears to block the entrance.

“Your Highness,” they said formally, “you cannot go inside. The physicians are working—”

For the first time in his life, Larus completely *lost his composure*.

He grabbed the guard by the collar with both hands and *shouted* directly in his face:

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU ALL DOING?! HOW DARE YOU LET HER GET HURT?! WHERE WERE THE SHADOW GUARDS?! WHERE WERE THE KNIGHTS?! HOW DID SOMEONE GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO POISON HER?!”

His voice was absolutely *savage*—all traces of his usual gentle demeanor completely gone, replaced by raw, terrifying fury.

The guard went pale, stammering, “Your Highness, we—there was an investigation—the attackers got through—”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR EXCUSES!” Larus roared. “She’s DYING in there and you’re telling me about investigations?!”

The head of the palace guard arrived, an older knight with decades of experience.

“Your Highness,” he said carefully, “we understand your distress, but the physicians need space to work. If we allow you inside in this state, you might contaminate—”

“Then DECONTAMINATE ME!” Larus shouted. “Do whatever you need to do! But I am NOT standing out here while she’s—while she’s—”

His voice broke.The fierce anger suddenly crumbled, and what was left was just raw, desperate *fear*.

“Please,” Larus said, his voice dropping to something hoarse and broken. “Please. I need to see her. I need to know she’s alive. Please.”

The head guard looked at this young prince—this beautiful, gentle man who’d won the Empress’s heart—now standing there in a sweat-soaked undershirt, tears streaming down his face, begging to see his wife.

He made a decision.

“Decontamination chamber,” he ordered. “Now. Full protocol. Then he can enter.”

—

Ten minutes later—ten agonizing, eternal minutes—Larus was allowed into the medical wing.

He’d been scrubbed down, given clean robes, had protective talismans placed on him to prevent poison contamination.

But none of that mattered when he saw her.

Heena was lying on the medical bed, completely still.

Her skin had taken on a strange, greyish pallor. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was so shallow he could barely see her chest moving.

Around her, five of the empire’s best physicians were working frantically—checking her pulse, examining her pupils, testing her blood, consulting ancient medical texts.

Larus walked forward on numb legs and dropped to his knees beside the bed.

He reached for her hand—it was ice cold.

“Your majesty,” he whispered. “Wife, I’m here. Can you hear me?”

No response. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.

The head physician—an elderly woman who’d served three emperors—turned to look at Larus with an expression of deep sorrow.

“Your Highness,” she said gently, “we need to tell you—”

“Tell me she’ll be fine,” Larus interrupted. “Tell me you can cure this. Tell me she’ll wake up.”

The physician’s silence was answer enough.

“Your Highness,” she said carefully, “the poison used was something we’ve never encountered before. It’s not in any of our medical texts. We believe it may be a forbidden compound from the old empire—something that was supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago.”

“But you can cure it,” Larus said. It wasn’t a question. It was a desperate statement of hope.

“We don’t know,” the physician admitted. “The poison has caused complete paralysis of her nervous system. Her body is… frozen. She cannot move, cannot speak, cannot respond to any external stimuli.”

Another physician added, “We’ve confirmed that she’s fallen into a coma. We don’t know when—or if—she’ll wake up.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ’IF’?!” Larus shouted, standing up so fast he knocked over a stool.

The elderly physician looked at him with tired, sad eyes.

“Your Highness, even if Her Majesty does eventually wake up… there’s no guarantee she’ll be normal. The poison has caused extensive damage to her nervous system. She might be permanently paralyzed. She might have lost cognitive function. She might not even remember who she is or who we are.”

The words hit Larus like physical blows.

“No,” he said. “No, that’s not—she’s the strongest person I know. She’ll recover. She’ll—”

“Your Highness,” the physician said gently, “we will do everything in our power to save her. But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that the Empress we knew… may not come back to us.”

Larus stood there, swaying slightly, feeling like the entire world had just collapsed beneath his feet.

He looked down at Heena’s still, pale face.

This woman who’d been so alive just hours ago. Who’d smiled at him over breakfast. Who’d promised him a vacation. Who’d told him she loved him.

Now lying here, frozen, unreachable, possibly dying.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

“Your Highness?” the physician asked.

“LEAVE!” Larus roared. “All of you! Get out! Do your research, find a cure, do whatever you need to do—but leave me alone with my wife!”

The physicians exchanged glances, then bowed and filed out quietly.

Only Larus remained, kneeling beside Heena’s bed, holding her cold hand in both of his.

“You promised me a vacation,” he said, his voice breaking. “You promised we’d have more mornings like this. You promised—”

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