The palace was unusually quiet that morning.
Not the peaceful, ceremonial quiet Clara had grown accustomed to during her lessons with the Princess- where servants moved like shadows and every sound was carefully contained. This was a tense quiet, the kind that spread through the halls when something had gone wrong.
Clara noticed it the moment she stepped into the corridor leading to Veronica's chambers.
Servants whispered in small clusters before quickly scattering when they saw her. A pair of court attendants hurried past carrying bundles of towels and bowls of water that steamed faintly in the cold morning air.
Clara's stomach twisted.
That can't be good.
The morning after their "escapade" did not begin with haughty demands for new foods to try.
Instead, it began with a terrifying silence.
When Clara entered the Princess's private chambers, she found the Belmont twins, Terry and Thomas, standing guard outside the silk curtains. Their usual playful arrogance was gone, replaced by the rigid, stone-faced duty of Imperial knights.
"She's burning up," Terry whispered, his expression worried. "The Royal Physician says it's a mana-fever, likely triggered by overexertion. She hasn't let anyone close enough to administer the draught."
"She nearly took the maid's hand off with a stray spark of lightning when she tried to touch her brow," Thomas added, glancing down at the faintly singed cuff of his uniform.
Clara's heart did a painful somersault.
The grease. The night air. The dancing.
It wasn't mana-fever; it was a commoner's flu, and Veronica's pampered royal immune system had no idea how to fight it.
"Let me in," Clara said, her voice steady despite the roar of worry in her ears. "I've dealt with this before."
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the oppressive heat of Veronica's uncontrolled magic. The Princess lay amidst a sea of silk pillows, her golden hair damp with sweat, her skin flushed a deep, painful crimson.
"Go away," Veronica rasped, her eyes half-closed. A small spark of violet electricity hissed near her pillow. "I'll... I'll spark lightning to the next person who breathes too loudly."
"Then you'll have to start with me, Your Highness," Clara murmured.
She didn't flinch at the magic surrounding them. She sat on the edge of the bed and did something no one in the Empire dared to do: she reached out and pressed her cool, bare palm firmly against Veronica's forehead.
Veronica let out a long, shuddering breath, her head instinctively tilting into Clara's touch.
"Your hand… it's cold," Veronica muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Better than a blazing lightning bolt, I'd say," Clara replied softly, giving a small, teasing smile.
"I could have just zapped you," Veronica admitted, a weak smirk tugging at her lips despite the fever. "And yet… you still touch me."
"Someone has to make sure you don't burn yourself out," Clara said, brushing damp hair from Veronica's brow. "Besides, I'm surprisingly good at keeping dangerous princesses alive."
"I see… so now I'm dangerous?" Veronica said, a faint laugh breaking through the grogginess.
"You? Oh, definitely," Clara replied, her voice gentle. "But only the kind of dangerous that people secretly enjoy."
Veronica's eyes fluttered closed again, a small sigh escaping. "Hmph… maybe I like being endangered… by you."
"Then consider yourself protected," Clara whispered, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead and smoothing it over her temples. "No rogue sparks, no mad maids, no rogue nobles. Just me."
***
For the next four hours, Clara never left her side. She ignored the twins' protests and prepared the medicine herself- not the complex alchemical potions of the court, but a simple, potent brew of honey, ginger, and crushed herbs she had picked herself. She cooled the Princess's skin with damp cloths, whispering quiet, funny stories from her life to keep the fever-dreams at bay.
***
As the sun began to set, the Princess's breathing finally leveled out. The violent heat had started to ebb, though a residual warmth still lingered, leaving her pale and fragile. Veronica opened her eyes slowly, the violet depths of her irises clouded with exhaustion.
It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. The sight of her made something in Veronica's chest soften.
She looked at Clara, who was sitting at the side of the bed, holding her hand, her head resting lightly on the mattress. Clara's face was lined with fatigue, her hair a loose tangle, but her gaze was steady and gentle. She looked… real. Vulnerable. Worried.
And in that quiet moment, Veronica realized how much Clara's presence had come to mean. Somewhere along the way, the dull rhythm of her days had been disrupted by endless arguments, reckless ideas, and Clara's infuriating stubborness of staying exactly where she wasn't wanted. Yet without noticing, those same things had turned the once-gray silence of the palace into something warmer- louder, and strangely alive.
"You're still here," Veronica whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I told you," Clara replied, offering a small, tired smile as she brushed a damp lock of hair from Veronica's forehead. "I'm a very stubborn tutor. I don't leave until the lesson is finished."
Veronica's hand tightened slightly around Clara's sleeve, her usual haughty composure slipping further. Her lips trembled, and she bit the inside of her cheek as if holding back something more. "I… I don't like feeling like this," she admitted softly, the words barely escaping. "Helpless. Weak. And… alone."
Clara felt a pang in her chest. No one had ever heard the Princess admit that, not even her closest attendants.
"I'm… not used to anyone seeing me like this," Veronica continued, her voice breaking slightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her forehead lightly to the cool surface of the mattress. "I'm supposed to be strong. Untouchable. Perfect. But right now… I feel… small."
Clara squeezed her hand gently, letting her presence speak louder than words. She leaned just slightly closer, careful not to crowd her, just enough that Veronica could feel the reassurance radiating from her.
"For the first time in a long while…" Veronica began again, her gaze slowly returning to Clara's. Her haughty mask had completely fallen away, leaving the lonely girl beneath the Princess exposed. "I remembered my mother's warmth. I think I had forgotten what it felt like."
She paused, a soft hitch in her breath.
"I couldn't remember the feeling of someone staying… just because they wanted to. Not until now. Everyone… everyone else leaves. But you didn't."
Clara's throat tightened. Words wouldn't come; they weren't needed. She simply placed her other hand over Veronica's, holding it gently, reassuringly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the curtains and the slow rhythm of Veronica's breathing. Clara stayed where she was, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of Veronica's hand, as if the small motion alone could say everything she could not.
She wasn't going anywhere.
Veronica's free hand twitched and fumbled with Clara's sleeve, as if making sure she was real. Then, slowly, she rested her cheek against Clara's hand, letting herself lean just a fraction into the warmth offered. It was a gesture so small, yet it carried a lifetime of unspoken trust.
"Sleep, Veronica," Clara whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"You better be," the Princess murmured, her eyes finally fluttering shut. "Or I'll… break"
Clara stilled, squeezing her hand softly. And for the first time that evening, the room felt gentle- warm, safe, and entirely theirs.