The heavy mahogany doors of the King’s private study clicked shut, sealing out the murmurs of the palace. The room was thick with the scent of old parchment and the sharp, lingering tension of the morning's near-execution.

  The King stood by the hearth, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across his weathered face. He turned to Lady Lyra Bellrose, his expression uncharacteristically soft.

  "Lady Bellrose," the King began, his voice heavy with the weight of a near-fatal error. "Today, the Crown nearly committed an unforgivable injustice. Based on forged evidence and the panic of the moment, I almost ended the life of a Noble of the Bellrose line. For the arrest, the public shaming, and the sentence... I offer you my formal apology."

  Lyra immediately sank into a deep, graceful curtsey, her head bowed in a display of perfect humility. "Your Majesty is the law of this land," she replied, her voice steady and devoid of malice. "In times of great change, it is only natural to guard the throne. I hold no bitterness; I only seek to serve the health of the Royal Family."

  The King sighed, but his eyes remained sharp, narrowed with a lingering, deep-seated anxiety. "Your humility does you credit. However, we cannot ignore the nature of the 'miracles' you have performed. Alaric was a ghost of a man for years; now he walks. Everard’s migraine and Cassian’s ailments have vanished with a speed that defies common logic."

  He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. "There are those in my court who whisper that such recovery is not the work of herbs, but of forbidden arts. Witchcraft. They fear you have used an occult leash to bind my sons' loyalty to you."

  "Father, that is preposterous!" Prince Alaric stepped forward, his silver-white hair catching the light, his crimson eyes burning with indignation. "Her methods are effective because she is a genius, not a sorceress!"

  Prince Everard and Lord Cassian both moved to support Lyra, their faces set in grim defiance. Even Lady Isolde, still confused by the whirlwind of events she had walked into, tried to speak. "Father, if she saved them—"

  "Silence!" the King commanded, hushing the room with a single, sharp gesture. "I will not have the heirs to this throne defended by the very woman who might be ensnaring them. Lady Lyra, until you can prove to me—and to the kingdom—that your methods are rooted in legitimate medicine and not the occult, I cannot allow you to continue the treatment. You are forbidden from administering so much as a drop of tonic to my sons."

  The Codex of the First Founders

  Beside the King, Lady Serena hid a triumphant smirk behind her silken fan. She knew that "proving" science to a superstitious ruler was a near-impossible task.

  But Lyra lifted her head, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp clarity. She was ready for this question.

  Flashback: The day before the arrest. Lyra had been in her laboratory, organizing her vials, when a secret messenger delivered a letter from Seraphina, who was currently traveling with Tobias. The letter was breathless with success.

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  "Lyra, we have done it. We have successfully secured the Codex of the First Founders from the mountain monastery. It is the ancient, sacred text that categorizes every herb and alchemical process you use as part of our kingdom’s lost medicinal heritage. No one can call it witchcraft once they see the Royal Seal of the Founders on these pages. We are already on our way to the palace. — S."

  In the present, Lyra met the King's gaze with unwavering confidence. "I accept your terms, Your Majesty. I will present the proof of my legitimate methods soon. My friend is already on her way to the palace with the Codex of the First Founders. It contains the ancient records that prove my methods are documented history, not forbidden arts. I ask only that you wait for its arrival."

  The King nodded slowly, intrigued. "The Codex... a bold claim. Very well. I will wait. But until then, you are not to practice."

  "Now," the King cleared his throat, his expression turning cold and formal. "I have a major announcement to make. This day has been a stain on the crown. To show the kingdom that Prince Alaric is in full possession of his mind and dedicated to his future duties, we shall proceed with the official Engagement Party for Prince Alaric and Lady Serena Valerius immediately."

  The room went deathly silent.

  Serena’s eyes lit up with a radiant, gloating smile. "Your Majesty, it would be my greatest honor!"

  Alaric, however, felt as if he had been struck. He stood frozen, his heart hammering a painful rhythm against his ribs. He had known this day was coming for years, but now, it hit him with a crushing weight. He looked at Lyra, but she remained perfectly still, her face a mask of noble neutrality.

  "Father, please!" Isolde pleaded, stepping forward. "Let Alaric fully recover first! He shouldn't be forced into such a public duty after what happened today!"

  "No," the King said firmly, rejecting her plea. "The scandal must be buried. The people must know he is not 'hypnotized' and that the Valerius alliance stands. Isolde, I charge you with the arrangements. Make it the earliest date possible."

  All of them, from Everard to Cassian, knew they had no say. Only Serena looked pleased.

  "The rest of you are dismissed," the King commanded. "Alaric, stay. I wish to speak with you alone."

  One by one, they filed out. Alaric remained in the center of the room, the silence of the study feeling heavier than the dungeons. The King sighed, walking to the window to watch the guards clearing the courtyard.

  "I know you do not agree with this, Alaric," the King said, his voice surprisingly gentle but unyielding. "But you are the future King of this kingdom. Do not forget your duties. You cannot let your heart get in the way of the crown. As a ruler, you cannot rely on your feelings; you must rely on your alliances. The Valerius family is the pillar that holds this throne upright."

  Alaric tried to reason, his voice thick with emotion. "But Father, to marry without—"

  The King turned, looking at his son with an apologetic but firm gaze. "I understand what you feel, Alaric. Truly, I do. But the future of the kingdom is not built on feelings. It is built on stability."

  Alaric looked at the floor, his silver hair shielding his eyes. He realized then that his recovery had come with a price he wasn't sure he could pay. He had been given his life back by Lyra, only for his father to decide exactly how he was allowed to spend it.

  "I understand, Father," Alaric whispered.

  He turned and walked out, the pain in his chest sharper than any physical illness he had ever endured. He had known this was his fate all along, but as he thought of Lyra, he realized why it hurt so much more now.