The tension in the room is palpable, a thick, invisible thread pulled taut by the Duke's interrupted secret. As the Duke yields his seat by my bedside to Mr. Lucius, I watch the transition with a keen, analytical eye. The Duke retreats a step, while Mr. Lucius takes his place with the practiced grace of a man who has spent decades serving the crown.
The physician's fingers are cool and steady as he presses against my pulse. The room falls into a heavy, suffocating silence; Lily stands frozen by the door, Orlando is uncharacteristically still, and the Duke is watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
After a long, measured minute, Mr. Lucius releases my wrist, his expression thoughtful.
"Everything appears to be functioning as it should," he says, his voice breaking the silence like a pebble dropped in a still pond. "Though you remain physically fragile and your stability is far from total, the fact that you have awakened is a miracle in itself. You will recover, but it will require a rigorous, controlled diet to regain your lost energy. I shall prepare a detailed list of nutrients for your recovery."
He pauses, noticing the way I'm clutching the sheets, and offers a reassuring, grandfatherly smile. "And my lady, please—do not be so nervous. I can see the tension in your shoulders. You have been confined to this bed for eight days. Once you have regained a modicum of strength, I strongly suggest you spend time in the gardens. Fresh air will do more for your spirit than any tonic."
I take a shallow breath, deciding this is the moment. "Mr. Lucius," I start, keeping my voice small and hesitant. "If I may... what exactly happened to me? I have been sleeping, but I can't remember anything. I do not understand why my body collapsed so completely."
The physician sighs, a flicker of genuine professional frustration crossing his features. "To be honest, my lady, your test results are baffling. All indicators suggest a healthy constitution, yet the cause of your deep slumber remains a mystery to me. I will continue to observe you closely, but for now, the 'why' eludes even my best efforts."
I open my mouth to press further, desperate for a clue about the poison, when the room's atmosphere takes a sudden, sharp turn.
A loud, unmistakable grumble echoes through the quiet room—a cavernous, hollow sound that seems to vibrate off the stone walls.
I freeze. The sound had clearly emanated from my own stomach, which had been empty for eight days, sustained by nothing but minimal fluids. My face burns with a heat that I am certain is bright red.
"What... what was that?" I stammer, my "fragile" composure fracturing instantly. "That wasn't me, surely."
I look around, my eyes widening in practiced, panicked denial. I fix my gaze on Lily, who is staring at me in shock. "Lily? Was that you? You must be hungry, you poor thing."
Lily turns pale, stammering, "N-no, my Lady! It certainly was not me, I—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Orlando barks, a smirk breaking across his face. "Why are you trying to pin your hunger on the maid? It was clearly your stomach, Eleanor. Everyone in this room heard it. There is no use trying to hide it."
"I am not hiding anything!" I protest, my face flaming as I pull the sheets up to cover my mouth. "I haven't eaten in eight days! I am a human being—is it a crime to be hungry?"
A beat of silence follows, and then, the dam breaks. Orlando lets out a loud, undignified snort, followed by a full-blown laugh. Even the Duke's stoic mask slips, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. To my absolute horror, Mr. Lucius—the distinguished Royal Physician—begins to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he wipes his eyes.
I collapse back into the pillows, burying my face in my hands. The "fragile lady" persona is completely ruined, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated mortification of a woman who just wanted to solve a mystery and ended up being outed by her own digestive system.
The room is filled with the kind of laughter that comes from genuine, unexpected relief—the tension of the last week breaking in the most absurd way possible. Orlando is practically doubled over, and even the Duke has pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth.
Mr. Lucius, though clearly the most composed of them all, has his hand pressed against his lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He takes a steadying breath, finally managing to regain his professional decorum.
"My apologies, my Lady," he says, his voice still thick with suppressed laughter. "But you must forgive us. It is not often one sees such a... passionate defense of one's own physiology."
He clears his throat, finally managing a calm, gentle tone. "Truly, child, it is alright. It is a completely natural, human reaction. You have been dormant for eight days; your body is simply signaling that it is ready to heal. There is absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. It was just a little bit funny seeing how fiercely you tried to deny it."
I peek through the gaps in my fingers, my face still burning like a furnace. Despite his kind, soothing words, I can still feel the weight of their collective gaze. The Duke is watching me with a look of soft, amused curiosity, and Orlando is still wearing that infuriating, teasing smirk. Even Lily, usually so dutiful, is giggling behind her hand.
The humiliation is suffocating. I pull my hands away from my face, my eyes flashing with a mix of genuine annoyance and continued mortification. I am tired of being the spectacle.
"If it is so normal," I huff, my voice sharp and defensive, "then please stop staring at me! You are all looking at me as if I am some strange creature."
I glare at them, though my eyes are still watering from the embarrassment. "I am a human being! It is a normal physiological function, so stop acting like you've never heard a stomach growl before. It is incredibly awkward and embarrassing for me if you keep staring at me like that, so please—just stop it."
The Duke catches my gaze, and for a split second, I see a glint of genuine warmth beneath his amusement. He realizes I am genuinely flustered, and he raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, his expression softening.
"You are quite right, Eleanor," he says, his voice smoothing out into something warm and fatherly. "Forgive us. We are just... relieved to see you have your spirit back."
The laughter has died down, but the air in the room feels different now—less suffocating, and much more grounded.