The carriage wheels creaked over the path paved with white marble. Alistair leaned his head against the cramped wooden wall of the vehicle. Outside, the cacophony of Aethelgard's capital sounded like the relentless hum of bees. Citizens gathered at the roadsides, whispering as they watched the prison carriage, escorted by knights in silver plate armor, pass toward the palace gates.
"Look at that," a woman in the crowd hissed. "That must be a prisoner from Ironspire. Have they gone mad, bringing such filth to the Princess's holy sanctuary?"
Alistair closed his eyes. He remained indifferent to the insults. His focus was singular: his own body's physiological stability. He counted his pulse at his left wrist. 72 beats per minute. Normal. The wretched Julian might have been trembling with fear, but Alistair Thorne was a man accustomed to walking the line between life and death in sterile hospital corridors.
The carriage stopped with a violent jolt. The door was forced open by Sir Kaelen.
"Out, Julian," Kaelen commanded. "And remember, keep your head bowed. You are on sacred ground now."
Alistair stepped down. The chains on his ankles and wrists clattered loudly, piercing the silence of the magnificent palace courtyard. Golden pillars towered high, and carved angels at every corner seemed to watch him with judgmental stares.
"Bowed?" Alistair instead straightened his back, looking directly toward the massive doors of the main hall. "Disease does not care for royal protocol, Sir Kaelen. The more time we waste on pleasantries, the closer your Princess gets to the grave."
Kaelen snorted, but he did not argue. He led Alistair through long corridors adorned with blood-red tapestries until they reached the doors of Princess Elara's primary chambers.
There, a group of elderly men in purple silk robes were engaged in a heated debate. In their midst stood a man with a long white beard reaching down to his chest—Grand Maester Valerius.
"Who is this?" Valerius turned, his squinting eyes scanning Alistair from head to toe. The stench of the dungeon clinging to Alistair's clothes prompted the Maester to cover his nose with a silk handkerchief. "Kaelen, have you lost your mind? I asked for a healer, not a chained beggar from a rat hole."
"This is by the King's command, Maester Valerius," Kaelen answered firmly. "The Warden of Ironspire vouches for this man's capability."
"Vouches?" Valerius laughed derisively, his voice high-pitched. "He is Julian Vance! I know his history. A failed former assistant, a murderer who stained his hands with Lady Isabelle's blood. And now you bring him to touch Princess Elara? This is an insult to the art of medicine!"
Alistair stepped forward, his chains rattling against the marble floor. He stood directly in front of Valerius, who was significantly shorter than him.
"Your 'art of medicine', Maester," Alistair said in a flat, piercing tone, "seems only to have succeeded in bringing the Princess closer to death. If your elixirs worked, I wouldn't be here right now."
"You!" Valerius flushed, his face nearly matching the color of his robes. "How dare you speak to me like that! I have studied ancient manuscripts for fifty years! The Princess's illness is a divine curse, a freezing of the soul that can only be soothed by sunflower essence and holy prayer!"
"A curse? Prayer?" Alistair shook his head slowly. "That is why you failed. You search for reasons in the heavens, while the answer lies within her bloodstream."
"Enough!" The heavy voice of King Theodoric emerged from within the room. The King stepped out, his weary eyes studying Alistair with intense scrutiny. "Kaelen says you can see what others cannot. Is that true?"
Alistair bowed slightly—not as a sign of servitude, but as a mark of respect between men. "I can provide an accurate diagnosis, Your Majesty. But I require direct access to the patient."
"Do not let him near her, Your Majesty!" Valerius cried out in panic. "He is a murderer! He will strangle the Princess!"
King Theodoric stared at Alistair for a long moment, searching for doubt in his eyes. However, he found only a cold, steady calm. "Unchain him. If he makes a single suspicious move, take his head on the spot."
The palace guards immediately removed the shackles from Alistair's hands and feet. Once free, Alistair wasted no time. He walked directly into the chamber, which was stifling with the scent of incense. Upon the massive bed, Elara lay. Her beautiful face looked like a wax statue beginning to crack from the black lines of the Obsidian Veins.
Valerius followed behind, continuing his prattle. "Be careful! Do not touch those black veins! Your body heat will trigger the toxin and cause it to explode into the heart!"
Alistair ignored the noise. He sat on the edge of the bed. The atmosphere in the room was freezing—intentionally kept cold per Valerius's instructions to "put the curse to sleep."
Alistair reached out with his recently healed right hand. His slender, steady fingers touched Princess Elara's wrist. He didn't just feel for a pulse like a typical physician. He applied slight pressure to specific points, then slid his fingers toward the elbow, following the path of the black lines.
His eyes closed. He felt the unnatural texture of Elara's skin. Cold, yet there was a faint vibration beneath it.
"What are you doing?" the King asked in a hushed voice.
Alistair opened his eyes. He turned toward Valerius, who looked smug, waiting for Alistair to make a mistake.
"Maester Valerius says this is a 'Freezing of the Soul', a curse that freezes the blood from within, correct?" Alistair asked.
"Of course!" Valerius answered loudly. "That is the diagnosis agreed upon by the entire council of physicians."
Alistair released the Princess's hand and stood up. He looked at King Theodoric with an incredibly grave expression.
"Then your entire council of physicians is dead wrong," Alistair stated, his voice echoing through the room.
Valerius's eyes bulged. "What?! You dare—"
"This is not a freezing of the blood," Alistair cut him off sharply. "Quite the opposite. The Princess's body is experiencing extreme localized hyperthermia within the venous pathways. Those black veins are not ice; they are the result of forced nutrient combustion by something living inside them."
Alistair shot Valerius a look of utter disdain. "The 'freezing curse' diagnosis you provided is the reason your treatment is actually killing her. You gave her warm elixirs to fight the 'cold', when in fact, you were only feeding the monster inside her body."
The room suddenly fell as silent as a grave. King Theodoric looked at Valerius, then back to Alistair.
"Monster?" the King asked, his voice trembling.
"Yes," Alistair replied. "And if we do not change the treatment method within the next ten minutes, her heart will stop due to thermal failure."
Valerius shook with fury, his face turning purple. "He lies! He is merely using complicated words to deceive you, Your Majesty! Where is the proof? Where is the proof that there is a 'monster' inside her?!"
Alistair did not answer with words. He felt for the buttons of the silk gown covering Princess Elara's chest. "The proof is right under here. And I will show it to you now, even if you all consider this a desecration."
Exactly as Alistair's hand began to undo the first button of the Princess's gown, the royal guards unsheathed their swords with a synchronized shring. "Stop, or you die!"