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Healer Rhea's POV

Rhea couldn't understand how frail her body truly was, how damned it had become when riddled with so much trauma. But gods,  she couldn't even die in peace—

Not when the ghost of her parents continued to come and go.

Though it had been worse, a boy had come forward not long after. And upon shooing him, she realized that it could have been her lost brother.

The one who had died in childbirth.

While he hadn't said much before her outburst and prompt loss of consciousness—The effort it took to remember anything was waining thinner and thinner, as she soon didn't seem the need to care.

Her hand was still tightly gripped around the spoon, entirely lost in equations and attempts to figure out what Romulus needed—And no, she knew that he wasn't better, she felt it deep in the bottom of her heart.

If he was well, she wouldn't be here.

If he was well, Mithwell would be dead.

If he was well...

Perhaps she could ask her brother to help her to the Goddess, to plead for mercy.
Didn't it seem like the right time to stop fighting?

There hadn't been a day that she hadn't stopped the constant battle of looking over her shoulder. It didn't matter if she was well stocked in the Kingdom, or starving off in the territories.

Nothing changed, nothing besides the name. A name her father had called her a fool for not using.

"I am not her..." She whispered, knowing that she had buried that part of herself down so long ago. But her mouth had become so dry without a proper drink that she had strained herself further, but the words needed to come out.

They needed to be declared.

With no one to share what she supposed were her final moments, she decided that this was for the better. That her body had been so very tired for years, a decade, even.

Perhaps it was wrong to play with the idea of being with Romulus, not when she seemed so fragile in comparison. She vowed that whatever form she would transpire to, she would watch over him.

That would be for the better, wouldn't it?

The uneasiness of her breath had concluded one thing, that her lungs didn't burn for air—And it felt as though she could choke regardless of whether she filled them or not.

Yet every time she had come to this road of acceptance, a pulse had distracted her. One that repeated no matter how many times she begged for the last breath to come.

Perhaps her heart would burst, or the infection would catch wind of the dozens of rats in the room surrounding her. Neither were all that tempting, but at one point, she couldn't seem to find herself worthy of anything better.

It was rather ironic that her soul was tethered so strongly to stay alive, perhaps there was a way to sever it. A way to reject it.

The words had all been on the tip of her dry lips. But her voice hadn't agreed—No. She wanted to whisper, perhaps that would do it. Demanding it, with force.

No.

With a strong inhale, Rhea had all but charged up to giving it her all—Only to hear a voice. One that had a sense of weight to it, as though it was real.

But she closed her eyes while her lips twitched, as a smile was too much of a strain. Yet the sound was starting to echo and ache her eardrum, to the point of actual annoyance.

Was Mithwell coming to announce the King's death?
Taunt her by giving half bits of information to let her stew upon the madness?

No, if only she could manage to—Her thought rolled along with her eyes to the back of her head, humming relief that things that the ache in her chest was just enough of a presence to listen from beyond her cell room.

Yet her curiosity to stall had nearly been forfeited upon hearing the loud screech open the door, offering the light once more. And nothing had been worse than feeling the torchlight burning her iris' thin.

Rhea couldn't think of anything worse than opening her eyes, so she ignored the bastards at the door. Though it had been an utter mistake, given that the rushed hands fiddling with the handle of the cell doors had all but missed.

With an unsatisfied grunt followed by a curse, the male had given up and tugged at the rusted hinges and threw the damned thing to the side. Falling down to his knees in utter agony.

"Rhea..." The voice had been sweet, soft even. But Rhea couldn't bother with a response. It was a lie, everything she's seen and heard was a lie. "Lady Rhea." It attempted again, but it was dutifully ignored.

Perhaps they would get bored if they cannot—

"I've found her! I've found Lady Rhea!" The excitement was there, the thrill of it all that she attempted to pry her eyes open. But feeling a strange and scratchy texture, she couldn't even flinch away.

How was she meant to figure out the being in front of her?

"Forgive me, Rhea...And Goddess forgive of what's to come." He whispered, but she let out a distasteful huff. Leaving the arms cradling her to ease and turn softer as they brought her to a warm chest.

Wolf, that was for sure.

If this is a wolf then he'd need to know to have her work, her research for the King. That thought continued to roll through her thoughts again and again as she pushed forward her spoon. Her writing utensil for the entirety of her imprisonment.

But the male didn't understand.

While her words didn't work before, a blockage that she couldn't understand medically—She decided to try again. "Help."

"Yes, help will meet us. I promise." How was it that the male could sound so lofty and stern all at once?

"No. Help." She managed to move, thrusting the spoon once more before dropping it down to the floor below. Perhaps he would get the message, but he had done nothing to voice it.

And with the promise of aid coming to her rescue, she attempted to reach her arm to look as though she wanted to get it back. Surely her scratches were deep enough to catch the naked eye of a wolf?

"Goddess, you brilliant little female...Get a wolf in here, we need this written down!" He ordered, and completely jostled her up into his arms as he got to his feet and carried her up and away.

It hadn't been an easy movement to get through, given that the tension in her stomach was starting to be tossed around—Making her utterly nauseous to the point of loss of control.

She repeated her apology again and again, but the male did not falter his determined strides. And the stranger hadn't let go even after the rush of voices and panic had come and gone.

It felt never-ending, the movement—Being jostled back and forth. At one point, she wished she had the solid ground of her cold cell. At least it was less violent on her mind. Away from the light and colors of the world, and much less in the presents of someone she couldn't make out.

Or couldn't focus on it until he settled her ever so gently down into a lush and scented comforter. "Huh?" Was all that she could get, but the way that the stranger had motioned for others to come, absolute panic had come forward.

One last effort to fight off her assailants, then what? Her legs would not move at will, and there was no chance to truly escape. Yet upon focusing on the voices, there was a familiar one amongst the crowd—And that familiarity grew as they pushed through the oncoming crowd.

"Rhea!" Clive shouted, and her eyes locked onto him. Unmoving as they searched for his, trying to break the blurry vision that remained from the trip here.

The boy's excitement had caused him to grasp her arm, tugging it close to his warm embrace. But even then, she could almost smell the rage coming off him in waves.

"She—"

"Keep her calm, we need the Healers to get that tonic into her system."
Yes, yes! That is exactly what she needed, how did the male know?

With a level of worry having left her, she managed to take into account the male who saved her. Saved and promised over and over again that he would see to it that she would make it through.

And while she wanted it to be Romulus, standing there in his full glory—It was, instead, General Drex.
Who issued a smirk the moment he caught the recognition in her eyes.

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Date: 07/17/23

Time: 4:27

Words: 1481

Author's Note:

I think this is a good place to end the updates for today, Lady Rhea is saved, but will the King recover?