That fleeting moment seemed to stretch into eternity, every second etching itself into the fabric of time. The air crackled with a palpable tension that it could almost be touched. In this suspended reality, a knock on the door shattered the spell, echoing through the room like a distant chime. I too was surprised at this sudden intrusion yet, I remained calm and composed as to the other two guys. A soft but deliberate knock resonated through the grand doors, signaling the arrival of a maid bearing both my father's authority and the family doctor. At that moment, Derrick quickly hid outside beside my window, leaving as soon as they entered. As they came in, a cold and terrifying aura filled the room. What was once filled with love was now overcome by fear and coldness. As one of the maids stepped forward, she announced, "Dinner will be served now, my lady," her voice carrying the weight of tradition and formality. As the doors creaked open, revealing a group of knights who accompanied her, the air in the room shifted. I was surprised to see that the king was there too. Well, to be fair, the knights looked a bit scary and looked at me with spite. You know you could see that in their eyes and how they stare rudely. Yet amid his ‘grand’ entrance, With the help of one of the knights, Peter moved the couch to make it easier to address his wounds. He allowed the knight to help him back to the sofa and let a MAID tend to his injuries. I was surprised by this encounter because Peter usually doesn't get along with anyone other than Derrick and me. But I guess he was too hurt to care who took care of him. The night was heavy with a lingering mist, wrapping the world in a shroud of melancholy. Each breath he took seemed to echo in the silent, fog-draped streets. The pale light of the moon cast long shadows, but he paid no heed. He was too hurt to care who took care of him, lost in the depths of his despair. The chill in the air seemed to seep into his bones, but even that was a distant sensation compared to the ache in his heart and my heart too…

After I saw that happen, one of the other maids, whose name I think was Ruby, gave me a tray with a bowl of soup and bread. But the way she gave it was so rude, that I almost saw Derrick rushing to defend me. I signaled him to stay put. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle and your heart beat faster. Ruby's eyes were cold, her movements brusque, as if the tray she handed me carried the weight of her disdain. Derrick, ever the protector, was ready to leap to my defense, his expression fierce and determined. But I caught his eye and shook my head, a silent plea for him to stay put. The quiet rustle of the curtains and the distant hum of the household seemed amplified, a backdrop to the silent standoff. As I took the tray, the aroma of the soup mingled with the chill in the air, but it did little to warm the coldness of the moment. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the sense of unease. At that moment, she bowed to me, and I sensed something else was on her mind. So, I waited patiently and observed her. As far as I know, “Mei” usually eats in her room most evenings, and true to expectation, that's exactly what happened. Yet, I could feel that something was wrong. I couldn't explain it, but something was not right, as if I was hypnotized and unable to think clearly while something else was happening in the background.

As that unfolded, Derrick gently tapped on the window a few times, like a code. In response, I coughed twice, trying not to arouse suspicion. Yet, I was in a trance, gazing out the window as if waiting for something undefined, something that no one could name. The room around me seemed to fade into the background, its shadows lengthening as dusk settled in. From a distant corner, a faint, almost imperceptible sound reached me—someone calling my name, their voice muffled by the thick, heavy air that hung in the room like a dense fog.

“Excuse me, Mei!” someone said, their touch cold and unexpected as they tapped my shoulder. I jumped, turning to find the doctor standing there. Startled, I hiccuped, and he responded with a reassuring smile. Gently, the King approached my bedside, poured water into a glass, and handed it to me. “Here, child, drink slowly,” he said, his voice soft yet tinged with concern. I noticed a flicker of worry in his eyes, as though he was silently pleading for my well-being. I was confused, having never seen that side of the king before. The usual composure and authority he exuded were replaced by a vulnerability I hadn't expected. It was as if the layers of his royal facade had slipped away, revealing a raw, unguarded part of him. The contrast was jarring, leaving me to grapple with a new and unsettling perception of someone I thought I knew so well. The family doctor continued my examination, ensuring I was comfortable and asking me countless questions. Yet, it felt as though he wasn’t inquiring about anything that mattered, such as my magic or how he might know I wasn’t Mei. I could sense that he was aware of my true identity, judging by the subtle shift in his demeanor compared to what my boss had described. Now he was questioning me about my headaches, referring to me as Jay. It became clear that something was amiss. As the doctor inquired about my headaches, I felt the room grow increasingly tense, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the King's presence and the glaring lights. Sensing the shift, the doctor gently requested that everyone leave, except for the King, who was permitted to stay. I hesitated for a moment and then asked, "Can my knight, Peter, stay as well?" The king allowed it, seeing that it would be a hassle to move him back and forth. His usual decisiveness was tempered by a rare moment of practicality. The king's eyes held a mix of weariness and resignation, acknowledging the reality of the situation. It was a subtle but significant departure from his typical demeanor, one that added to the growing complexity of my perception of him. The doctor put his glasses down around his neck, slipped his instrument into his pocket, stood up from my bedside, and looked the king dead in the eyes. The room was filled with a tense, almost palpable silence. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, adding an eerie quality to the moment. The king's face, usually a mask of stoic authority, now showed a hint of unease under the doctor's unwavering gaze. The night outside was quiet, the stillness only broken by the distant hoot of an owl, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

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I coughed, shattering the silence like a knife. This was such a serious cough that blood came out of my mouth. However, I was not startled because I knew that I had a terminal illness that was not curable. But that cough was a shock to the king.

The room seemed to freeze at that moment, the doctor's stern gaze still locked with the king's. The flickering candlelight cast eerie, dancing shadows on the walls, heightening the sense of dread. The king's eyes widened in alarm, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. Outside, the night remained silent and still, as if the world was holding its breath in unison with those inside. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue, a grim reminder of my condition, but I remained calm, resigned to my fate. Yet I looked at my hand, showed a sad yet happy smile, and brushed it off, leaving a smudge of blood on my face. I looked up to the doctor with a lingering feeling that he would tell me how long I had left. The king, however, looked as if he had been struck by a physical blow, the reality of my illness crashing down upon him with brutal force.

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken words, the dim light casting long shadows that danced ominously on the walls. My smile, tinged with both sorrow and acceptance, seemed to hang in the air, a fragile beacon in the oppressive silence. The doctor's eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of compassion and grim determination, as if he already knew the answer to the question I hadn't yet asked. The king stood frozen, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock, as the full gravity of my condition settled over him like a suffocating shroud. The night outside remained eerily quiet, the world seeming to hold its breath in sympathy with the scene unfolding within. The doctor took a deep breath in, fixed his hair, took off his hat, and said, "She has a maximum of twelve months to live, King." The room fell into a heavy silence, each word hanging in the air like a death knell. The doctor’s face was a mask of professionalism, but his eyes betrayed the sorrow he felt. The king's expression shifted from shock to a hint of deep, profound sadness, his regal composure crumbling under the weight of the news. The flickering candlelight cast a wavering glow, making the shadows in the room dance like mournful specters. I felt the words sink into my soul, a strange mix of relief and resignation washing over me. The finality of the prognosis was undeniable, yet it brought a certain peace, knowing the end was now defined. The king’s eyes met mine, and in that silent exchange, we both acknowledged the painful truth that lay ahead. I saw how the news of my impending departure shook the king, and he fell to his knees. I quickly stood up, trying to help him, but I failed as I felt so weak in my arms that he passed through my hands as if I were a ghost. The doctor ran to his rescue and helped him move to the chair beside me. I stared at the king with a smile, the bloodstain still at the corner of my lips. I saw how the news of my impending departure shook the king, and he fell to his knees. I quickly stood up, trying to help him, but I failed as I felt so weak in my arms that he passed through my hands as if I were a ghost. The doctor ran to his rescue and helped him move to the chair beside me. I stared at the king with a smile, the bloodstain still at the corner of my lips.

The room was enveloped in a profound stillness, the weight of the moment pressing down on us all. The king’s collapse was a stark reminder of his humanity, his vulnerability laid bare in a way I had never seen before. As the doctor-assisted him, the flickering candlelight cast long, haunting shadows on the walls, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. The king’s eyes, once filled with unyielding strength, now mirrored the anguish that tore at his heart. Despite my weakness, I managed a smile, a bittersweet expression that held both acceptance and quiet strength. The metallic taste of blood lingered, a constant reminder of my fragile state, yet in that moment, there was a strange sense of peace. The bond between us felt palpable, a silent understanding passing between us as we faced the inevitable together. smiled even more as tears streamed down my face. With a broken voice, I said, "My knights don’t know, nor does the castle or any of the maids, but please don’t tell anyone. I’m already the black sheep of this family. If they find out I’m as weak as a feather, they will attack me and break me even more than now." The room seemed to close in around us, the air heavy with the weight of my request. My voice trembled, each word a plea wrapped in vulnerability. The king's eyes, still wet with the remnants of his earlier shock, now held a deep empathy. The doctor stood by, his expression one of solemn understanding. The candlelight flickered, casting gentle glows that danced across the room, barely piercing the enveloping darkness of the night. My heart ached with the fear of being further ostracized, the thought of their judgment adding to the pain I already carried. The king nodded solemnly, his gaze steady and compassionate, as if to promise that my secret would remain safe.