Chapter 11

[ 1,144 words ]

{Third Person}

Silence pressed heavily against the hall as all eyes rested on Alexander.

He did not try to make any move to bow. Instead, he lifted his gaze to meet his father’s directly.

“No.”

The single word rang out with finality.

A ripple of tension swept through the hall as Lysandra’s lips parted in disbelief. “You—”

Alexander did not look at her. His attention remained on the King. “The head I brought here belongs to the prison guard leader,” he said calmly, pausing for a moment.

“He carried out an order.” His gaze shifted slightly. Not fully to the Queen, but enough. “To whip the political bride to the brink of death.”

The hall descended into stunned silence. Even the servants forgot to breathe. Then, Sebastian’s expression gradually shifted as his gaze turned towards Lysandra.

“What is he saying?” His voice was no longer controlled, but dangerous.

Lysandra stiffened, but recovered quickly. “My King,” she said, forcing composure into her tone, “the human girl has not been declared innocent. She is still under suspicion. Interrogation—”

“Interrogation?” Sebastian cut in sharply. His voice rose, then his eyes darkened. “You call that interrogation? Did I give you permission to handle this case in such a manner?”

Lysandra’s fingers curled slightly. “My King, I was only acting in the interest of the Crown. If she is truly an impostor, then—”

“Then you would start a war?” Sebastian snapped, and the force of his voice shook the room. “Do you understand what it means to lay hands on a political bride before her identity is verified?”

Lysandra faltered. For the first time, uncertainty crept into her expression.

Alexander watched quietly, still unmoved. Then, he spoke again. “As for verification,” he said.

That caught the King’s attention.

Alexander’s tone remained even. “From the day she was imprisoned… until now… No letter has left this palace.”

The words dropped like a stone into still water.

Sebastian’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Alexander’s gaze was steady. “The letter addressed to the Human Parliament was never sent.”

The hall erupted into hushed murmurs. Sebastian turned very slowly to Lysandra. “Is this true?”

Lysandra’s composure finally cracked. “My King… I… I have been occupied with the affairs of the harem. There were matters that required immediate attention and I—”

“You forgot?” Sebastian’s voice rose again. This time, it carried no restraint. “You forgot to send a letter that determines whether we stand at peace or on the brink of war?”

Immediately, his anger exploded. “Have you lost all sense of judgment?!”

The force of his rage crashed through the hall like a tempest. Every servant immediately dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, their bodies shaking.

Lysandra fell as well, her earlier arrogance completely shattered. “My King, I—”

“Silence!” he thundered.

She flinched and did not dare to continue, afraid of the King’s rage.

The hall remained frozen in fear, with everyone kneeling. Everyone except Alexander. He remained where he was, completely unaffected. Watching.

His expression remained calm, almost indifferent. But there was a faint light in his eyes now. He was satisfied.

—

Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside the Alpha Prince’s residence was quiet and heavy.

In one of the inner chambers, Amara lay unconscious on the bed. Her body was positioned carefully—her chest resting against the mattress, her back fully exposed.

The damage was unmistakable.

A female physician stood beside the bed, her sleeves rolled up neatly as she worked with calm precision. Beside her, a basin of warm water sat on a small wooden stand.

She dipped a clean cloth into the water, wrung it slightly, then gently pressed it against Amara’s back. The moment the damp cloth touched her wounds, Amara winced.

A faint, broken sound escaped her lips even in her unconscious state.

The physician paused briefly, then continued, careful but firm. She wiped away the dried blood slowly, revealing the injuries beneath.

With each pass of the cloth, the long, angry marks became clearer. The whip had not merely bruised her skin. It had torn through it.

The flesh along her lower back was swollen and raw, the lines deep and uneven. Even after the blood was cleaned away, the wounds looked severe and painful to the eye.

The physician’s expression tightened slightly, then she reached for a small jar from her wooden case.

She applied the healing balm carefully, spreading it across the torn skin with controlled movements. The scent of herbs filled the room as the ointment settled into the wounds.

Amara’s body reacted faintly—her fingers twitching weakly against the sheets.

When the balm had been applied, the physician began wrapping the injuries with white gauze, layer by layer, ensuring the pressure was even and secure without causing further harm.

Only when she was done did she step back.

“Water,” she demanded.

The servant nearby moved quickly, bringing a fresh bowl. The physician washed her hands thoroughly, the faint pink tint of diluted blood swirling briefly in the water before disappearing. She dried her hands with a clean cloth handed to her.

Next, a bowl of medicine was brought forward. The physician took it, then carefully helped Amara tilt slightly.

“Easy…”

She guided the liquid slowly into Amara’s mouth, giving her small amounts at a time. Even unconscious, Amara reacted—her brows tightening, her face contorting faintly in discomfort as she swallowed.

When the bowl was emptied, the physician set it aside and turned to the middle-aged female servant standing nearby.

“She will develop a high fever tonight,” the physician said calmly. “It is expected.”

The woman nodded, listening attentively.

“You must monitor her closely. When the fever rises, give her the same medicine again. Do not delay.”

“Yes,” the servant replied softly.

The physician looked at Amara once more. There was a hint of pity in her eyes. Then she straightened, rolling her sleeves back down before lifting her wooden medicine box.

“I will return tomorrow,” she added. “And for the next six days. The bandages will need to be changed regularly.”

The servant bowed her head. “Thank you.”

The physician turned and left the room.

Outside, Jasper was waiting. The moment he saw her, he stepped forward. “How is she?” he asked.

The physician gave him the same report. “Her wounds are serious. The fever will come tonight. She will need constant care.”

Jasper’s expression grew heavier. Then the physician added, more quietly, “Her skin is delicate. The whip did more than injure her. It seared through the flesh.”

Jasper understood immediately.

“She may be left with scars.”

The words settled between them.

Jasper exhaled slowly. “…I see.” Then, he inclined his head slightly. “Thank you for your effort.”

The physician nodded once, and she took her leave.

Jasper remained where he stood for a moment longer before finally turning his gaze back toward the sealed doors of the chamber.

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