The healer worked in silence.
Glass clinked. Spells whispered through the air like threads of wind. One assistant wiped the blood from the king's lips. Another pressed a cooling cloth to his brow. Still, he didn't wake.
Carlos stood unmoving.
He could feel the clock ticking. Not in the room—but in his bones.
The healer finally pulled back, her brow furrowed deep. Her gloves were stained. Her hands trembled.
"Well?" Carlos asked, his voice hoarse.
She didn't answer at first.
Then: "It's rosewine."
Carlos blinked. "He drinks that every day."
"Not this kind." She held up the glass the king had dropped. "This wine is different. Stronger. It's… a hybrid. More medicine than drink. Refined through alchemy. Meant to heal, in small doses."
Kave stepped forward. "Then why did it poison him?"
The healer turned to them both. "Because of the lilies."
Carlos's chest went cold. "What?"
She motioned around the room, frustrated. "Lilies are everywhere. The palace. The ballroom. The balcony. Even your brother's cloak was embroidered with it. The scent was thick enough to cling to skin."
She gestured to the king.
"When this particular rosewine reacts to concentrated lily pollen—especially in someone with a heart condition—it doesn't soothe. It becomes deadly."
Carlos stared at his brother. "His heart…"
"You said he had a disease, didn't you?" the healer whispered. "That's why it attacked him so fast. His body couldn't resist."
Kave's face paled. "It was a trap."
The healer nodded grimly. "He might've survived one or the other. The wine alone wouldn't have done this. The lilies alone wouldn't have either. But the two together…" She closed her eyes. "That combination was designed to kill him. No one else."
Carlos's fists clenched.
He felt it in the air now—the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies. He remembered the garden where his brother waited before the celebration. The walk through the gilded halls. The way the scent followed them.
And worse—he had brushed it off.
Because he had remembered blades in his past life, not flowers.
"I don't have much time," the healer said. "I can keep him alive for ten days. No longer."
"Then we'll find the cure," Carlos said.
"There is only one."
He didn't speak. He waited.
The healer looked up at him. "The root of the Elves' Mother Tree."
Silence fell again.
Kave swore under his breath. "That's myth."
"It's real," Carlos said quietly.
The healer nodded. "The root purifies poison at the deepest level—especially ones that mimic medicine. But it grows only in the Elven woods. And the elves do not take kindly to trespassers."
Carlos's jaw flexed. "Then I won't go as a trespasser."
"You'll need a battalion," Kave said.
"No," Carlos replied. "I'll take the Eastern cohort. Smaller. Loyal."
"You've never led them—"
"I have," Carlos said. "You just don't remember."
Kave blinked, startled. But Carlos said no more.
The healer moved toward her potions again. "Ten days," she warned.
Carlos nodded.
Then he turned to Kave. "The nobles stay."
Kave raised an eyebrow.
"They're suspects," Carlos said. "Every one of them. The wine was changed. The lilies arranged. That's coordination."
"I'll investigate."
"I know you will." Carlos reached down, brushing a lock of hair from the king's damp forehead. "But keep it quiet. If they know we suspect them, they'll act faster."
"Understood."
Carlos stood tall, one last look at his brother. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I swore this life would be different."
He turned to go.
Behind him, Kave watched with narrowed eyes. There was something in Carlos's step—like a man who had walked this path before. Too sharp. Too certain. Like a memory walking.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.