I Died on My Wedding Day

VII: conscious

The pale morning sunlight slipped through the curtains of Alaric’s study, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The room was in disarray. Ancient books on toxicology and Vaelcryss’s medical records were scattered across the oak desk.

Alaric sat there, his eyes red from lack of sleep, yet his focus was as sharp as an eagle’s. He was searching for an answer he had yet to find:

What kind of poison is odorless, tasteless, yet deadly within hours?

Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” Alaric ordered without lifting his gaze from the page.

The door opened. Sir Baldr stepped inside and carefully closed it behind him. The old knight looked slightly relieved.

“Good morning, Young Lord. I bring good news. Lady Eloise has regained consciousness, and the physician has allowed visitors.”

Alaric exhaled slowly, his tense shoulders finally lowering.

“Thank the gods. House Hildebrand is still under their protection.”

He snapped the book shut and rose. The murderous aura he had suppressed the night before seeped out once more, faint but dangerous.

“Sir Baldr,” Alaric said coldly. “Take the Head of the Kitchens to the dungeons. Interrogate him. I want to know who touched Eloise’s plate, who poured her drink, and who even passed near her food. Not a single rat is to escape.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Baldr replied firmly. But he did not leave at once.

“One more thing, Young Lord. With your permission, I wish to send someone to infiltrate the west wing guest chambers… Theodore Caelthrone’s room.”

Alaric narrowed his eyes.

“Whom do you propose? We cannot use ordinary soldiers. If discovered, it will be a declaration of war.”

“Pascale,” Baldr answered simply.

The name made Alaric pause. Pascale—the orphan girl found half-dead in a snowstorm ten years ago, raised by Nurse Griselda and trained by Sir Baldr. She was not merely a servant; she was a shadow. Small, agile, silent, and fiercely loyal to Vaelcryss.

“Pascale, hm?” Alaric murmured. After a brief moment of thought, he nodded.

“Do as you see fit, Baldr. But make sure she succeeds. If she is caught, she must know what to do. You know we cannot risk rescuing her.”

“I understand, Young Lord. I have trained her well. Her life belongs to Vaelcryss,” Baldr replied solemnly.

Alaric left the study and walked down the long corridor toward Eloise’s chambers. The distance between his office and his sister’s room was deliberate—designed so the filth of politics would never taint their innocence.

When he opened the door, the sight inside melted the ice in his heart.

Eloise was sitting against a pile of goose-feather pillows, her face still pale but her eyes open. Beside her, Lady Ameera—gentle and radiant—was helping her drink from a silver goblet.

“Mother,” Alaric greeted softly.

Ameera turned, her warm smile blooming. She set the cup aside and opened her arms.

“Alaric, my son. Come here.”

He stepped forward and allowed his mother to embrace him briefly. The scent of lavender and milk always calmed him.

“Thank the heavens your sister has returned to us,” Ameera whispered.

Alaric released her and sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Eloise’s hair as if she were made of glass.

“How do you feel, Eloise? Still in pain?”

Eloise shook her head weakly, her voice hoarse.

“Better than last night, Brother. Just… very heavy.”

“Huhu… Brother…”

A sob came from the other side of the bed. Elodie sat there, eyes swollen, nose red. The usually fierce, tomboyish girl now looked like a child who had lost her toy.

Alaric chuckled and ruffled Elodie’s wavy hair.

“Enough crying. You look terrible like this. Your horse will run away if it sees that swollen face,” he teased.

“You’re cruel!” Elodie protested, lightly hitting his arm, lips puffed in a pout.

Eloise let out a small laugh.

“Brother is right, Elodie. You look like a pufferfish.”

Soft laughter filled the room. Ameera smiled tearfully and drew all three of them into a gentle embrace.

“Enough, enough. May God bless us and keep sickness far from this family. Alaric, move a little—Eloise needs air. Don’t monopolize her.”

Alaric laughed and obeyed, stepping back toward the corner where Nurse Griselda was preparing herbal medicine.

The warmth vanished from his face as he turned his back to his family. He whispered to the old nurse.

“What did the physician say, Nurse? Be honest with me.”

Griselda bowed slightly, still grinding herbs. Her voice was barely audible.

“He said it is a rare poison, Young Lord. Its structure resembles an airborne allergen—like dust or fine volcanic ash,” she whispered.

“But… something is strange.”

“What is it?”

“The effect was far too fast. This kind of poison usually accumulates slowly, like dirt in the lungs. For Lady Eloise to collapse overnight…” She met Alaric’s gaze.

“My rough diagnosis—this could not have been from last night alone. Or… there was a powerful trigger that accelerated the reaction.”

Alaric’s eyes narrowed. A trigger?

Suddenly, the door burst open.

“Oh my! Eloise!”

Rosieta Caelthrone rushed in. She looked slightly disheveled—strands of her rosemary-colored hair had slipped loose, her breath uneven as if she had run from the west wing. In her arms, she carried a ceramic pot filled with bright purple flowers.

“I—I’m sorry for barging in,” Rosieta said, her voice trembling theatrically, eyes glistening as she looked at Alaric.

“My maid said Eloise had awakened. I was so worried. I wanted to come last night, but the guards wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t sleep thinking about my future sister.”

She stepped closer and offered the pot.

“This… is Southern Lavender. Its scent is very calming. It’s my favorite flower from Eldenval. I hope… I hope it will help Eloise feel better and bring us closer.”

Eloise smiled faintly.

“It’s beautiful… Thank you, Lady Rosieta.”

“Thank you for your kindness, dear Rosieta,” Ameera added politely.

Rosieta sighed in relief and handed the pot to Nurse Griselda.

“Please place it where Eloise can see it, Nurse. So she’ll feel encouraged to recover.”

Griselda took the pot. Her trained nose caught the unusually strong sweet fragrance from the purple petals. She nodded stiffly and placed it on the table near the window—farther from the bed, her instincts on alert.

Alaric studied Rosieta. Beneath the worried face and messy appearance, he searched for a crack in her mask. But Rosieta played her role flawlessly.

“You need not worry now, Lady Rosieta,” Alaric said evenly.

“Eloise only needs rest.”

“Yes,” Ameera added. “Alaric, you should escort Lady Rosieta for a walk or back to her chambers to tidy herself. She looks exhausted.”

“Very well, Mother.”

Alaric approached and offered Rosieta his arm.

“Come, my lady. Let my sister rest.”

Rosieta accepted, leaning slightly against him as if drained by concern.

“Thank you, Alaric. You truly are a wonderful brother.”

As they stepped out, Alaric glanced back once more.

His eyes lingered on the purple flowers by the window.