The air inside the King’s private study was thick with the scent of burning myrrh, a scent meant to soothe headaches but doing very little to ease the exhaustion gripping the room.

King Alderon sat behind his desk. He looked every bit his age, the lines around his eyes deeply etched by a sleepless night of pacing, dreading the terrifying prospect of an imperial war with the Solaric Empire.

Standing before the desk, completely unbothered by the heavy atmosphere, was the High Priest. He stood with his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his immaculate, gold-trimmed robes, radiating a calm, unshakeable holy aura.

King Alderon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. A visible, profound wave of relief washed over his face as he repeated the incredible report he had just received.

"So... the princess is truly fine?" Alderon asked, his voice rough from hours of tension. "She is entirely out of danger?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the High Priest replied, inclining his head with a serene smile. "Her Royal Highness Princess Iryna is out of danger. Her vital signs are stable, her breathing is deep, and the poison residue has left her system entirely. She is currently resting, but she is, by all accounts, completely fine."

Alderon let out a long, shuddering breath, slouching back into his chair. He closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands. "Thank the heavens," he muttered, his shoulders dropping as if a physical boulder had been lifted from his chest. "Thank the gods. I felt the entire empire crumbling beneath my feet. To lose a guest, a princess, under our roof would have stained our family’s honor forever and dragged us into a bloody, pointless war."

The King opened his eyes, looking up at the religious leader. A flicker of lingering confusion crossed his features. "But... I must ask, High Priest. Last night, you told us she was beyond saving. How does a fatal, untraceable poison simply vanish in a matter of hours?"

The High Priest didn’t flinch. He had anticipated this exact question. To ensure he kept Cherion’s identity completely safe while maintaining his own dignity as the head of the church, he chose his words with masterful, elegant precision.

"The divine will is not a simple, predictable equation, Your Majesty," the High Priest answered smoothly, his voice carrying the reassuring weight of absolute certainty. "Last night, human medicine and standard blessings had indeed reached their absolute limits. But the heavens often demand we face the true brink of despair before granting salvation. Princess Iryna possesses an incredibly resilient constitution. That, combined with the concentrated, pure prayers offered within her chambers, triggered a purification from within her own mana pathways. Even a High Priest cannot predict the exact moment the gods choose to extend their ultimate mercy. We can only be grateful that they did."

Alderon nodded slowly, accepting the explanation. He wasn’t a gullible man, but as a ruler, a miracle was the best possible outcome. It meant the heavens favored his palace, and it completely neutralized the immediate political crisis.

The King let out a soft sigh. He looked up at the religious leader with genuine warmth, his expression full of profound appreciation. "The Holy Temple has once again proven to be the ultimate bedrock of our empire’s peace," Alderon said, leaning forward slightly. "Your Holiness, your devotion during our darkest hour will not be forgotten. Name what you require. Golden artifacts for your altars, extra land grants for the holy domains, or a direct imperial tithe, tell me how the crown can properly repay you and your priests for bringing my guest back from the dead."

The High Priest did not hesitate, though his expression remained perfectly humble. He slowly bowed his head, lowering his eyes to the floor.

"Your Majesty is far too generous, but I simply cannot dare to take the credit for this miracle," the High Priest replied smoothly, his voice carrying an air of absolute piety. "It was not my hands, nor the hands of my disciples, that drove the darkness from Her Royal Highness. It was God himself who willed Princess Iryna to be healed. To accept worldly rewards for a direct act of divine mercy would be a grave sin against the heavens. The only repayment the Holy Temple asks is that the imperial family continues to rule with justice under the light of the gods."

Alderon smiled faintly, deeply touched by the old man’s unwavering humility. "You are a true man of faith, High Priest. The empire is blessed to have you."

Before anyone could say another word, the doors clicked open. Yerel stepped into the room, his expression tightly controlled, though a clear layer of exhaustion shadowed his eyes. He had spent the last several hours patrolling the cold stone corridors, demanding updates from the guards.

Seeing his son, King Alderon’s face brightened, a genuine smile breaking through his fatigue.

"Yerel, come in," the King called out, gesturing for the young prince to approach the desk. "I have just received the report from the High Priest. The gods have smiled upon us. Princess Iryna is awake and completely cured."

Yerel froze for a fraction of a second, his mind instantly flashing back to the image from the night before,the image of Cherion and Zarius kissing deeply on the balcony, completely unbothered by the life-or-death crisis unfolding in the palace. A strange, bitter knot formed in his stomach, but he forced a respectful, relieved expression onto his face as he bowed to his father.

"Is that true?" Yerel asked, his voice carefully neutral as he turned his gaze toward the religious leader.

The High Priest inclined his head toward the Crown Prince, his expression warm. "It is entirely true, Your Highness. The princess is out of danger. The crisis that threatened the empire last night has dissolved into a dawn of relief."

"Thank goodness," Yerel murmured, stepping closer to his father’s desk. He looked at the King, seeing the sheer gratitude radiating from his father’s eyes. King Alderon truly loved his empire and felt a deep, heavy responsibility for every soul under his roof.

"We’ve managed to avoid a catastrophe, Yerel," Alderon said, leaning forward to pick up his crown, placing it back atop his head with a renewed sense of purpose. "With the princess awake, we no longer have to prepare for a diplomatic catastrophe. We can open the gates, lift the heavy lockdown, and proceed with the afternoon assembly to reassure the nobility that the palace is entirely safe."

Yerel remained silent for a long moment. He thought about the security reports Karson had given him in the empty ballroom. He thought about how every single guest had been thoroughly searched, how the magical barriers had recorded absolutely no external intruders, and how the poison used was so specific, so precise, that it bypassed every standard poison tasters in the royal kitchen.

The Crown Prince took a slow step forward, his voice dropping into a low, chillingly serious register that cut right through the warm, relieved atmosphere of the room.

"Father... I am incredibly grateful that the princess is safe," Yerel began, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the map of the capital laid out on the desk. "But we cannot simply brush last night under the rug. Karson and the mages searched every inch of the perimeter. The barrier logs are entirely clean. No assassin slipped through the gates."

King Alderon’s smile slowly faded, his expression turning sharp as he focused on his son. "What are you implying, Yerel?"

Yerel gripped the edge of the wooden desk, his knuckles turning white as a dark, unsettling realization settled deep in his chest. He looked directly into his father’s eyes, his voice steady but laced with a terrifying gravity.

"I am afraid that the true culprit behind this poisoning... might did this from within the inner palace itself."