They soon reached Sydney's chambers.
The air inside was thick and stifling, heavy with the bitter scent of medicine and sickness. Healers moved quietly around the modest but tastefully kept room, their footsteps soft against the rug. One of them dabbed a wet cloth across Sydney's fevered brow, while another carefully stirred a bowl of some bitter-smelling concoction that sat steaming on the table.
Sydney herself lay propped up against a mountain of pillows. Her face, once proud and sharp, was now a ghastly shade of gray. Her lips were colorless, cracked. Her eyes remained closed, flickering faintly beneath the lids. On the bedside table, a half-empty cup of tea sat abandoned— watched intently by the head healer, who studied it as though willing it to yield its secrets.
The healers noticed at once when Elliott and Aiden entered. They moved to bow, but Elliott stopped them with a curt gesture, his expression cold and unreadable.
"How is the Empress Dowager?" he asked, his voice steady but low.
The head healer shifted nervously. She wrung her hands, her gaze darting from the poisoned tea to the frail woman on the bed before finally settling on the emperor. Her hesitation said everything before her words did.
"The situation is... dire, Your Majesty," she admitted, her voice small. "The poison is unlike any we've encountered before. I can say with certainty—it is not native to Velluria, nor to the surrounding lands. But it is potent. Far too potent. The fever rises quickly. Her Highness has begun coughing blood, and without knowing the exact toxin, we can only treat the symptoms. We cannot neutralize the poison itself. That... will make things very difficult."
Elliott's hands curled into fists at his sides, the muscles in his jaw flexing. "Send messengers throughout the empire," he ordered sharply. "Every province, every healer of repute. Bring me their best knowledge. This task is to be taken with the highest priority."
The healer bowed at once. "It will be done, Your Majesty. But still..." She hesitated again, her face pale. "Allow me to be honest with you. Surviving the night may be... difficult."
She didn't say it outright, but Elliott understood. The search for an antidote would be futile—Sydney didn't have that much time. The fever, the blood, the strain on her organs—it was all moving too quickly. She might not last until dawn.
Elliott's expression grew grave, his face shadowed with the weight of that truth. He glanced briefly at Aiden, who stood close by, every line of his body tense. Poisoning Sydney was already disastrous. If she died, the backlash would be catastrophic.
"Is she awake?" Elliott asked quietly, his eyes shifting toward the still figure on the bed.
The healer nodded. "Her Highness drifts in and out of consciousness. The spells grow shorter, weaker. If you wish to speak with her, Your Majesty... now is the time."
Elliott gave a small nod and moved toward the bed. An attendant quickly slid a chair into place, and Elliott lowered himself into it. Aiden remained behind him, silent, looming like a protective shadow.
Sydney's eyes fluttered open at the sound of movement. She saw them or rather, she felt the the presence of the emperor and the prince at her bedside. Beads of sweat clung to her brow, catching the light in dull glimmers. Her breaths came shallow, rattling in her chest, each one sounding like it might be her last. A thin stain of blood lingered on her lip, the evidence of her violent coughing fits.
The poison's cruelty was written across her body. She trembled faintly, her thin frame wracked with spasms, her hands clutched weakly against her abdomen in silent agony. She looked less like a woman alive and more like one already half gone, drifting closer to death with every shudder.
Elliott's heart clenched painfully at the sight. Their history had been complicated, almost bitter at times, but none of that mattered now. He felt a hollow pang of guilt—sharp and relentless. Sydney was suffering because of him.
She would most likely die tonight. And she would die not as a Dowager Empress, not as a rival, not even as a mother—but as collateral damage. A pawn sacrificed because she was close enough to Elliott to be used against him.
She had once asked him for nothing more than peace in her later years. A quiet life, untouched by politics and bloodshed. And now, looking at her trembling form, Elliott felt the cruelest truth settle in his chest like a stone.
He, mighty emperor as he was, could not even give her that.
"Empress Dowager," he said softly, his voice lower than usual, as though afraid to disturb the quiet around her. "We are here."
Her eyes, clouded with pain, fluttered open at the sound. Half-lidded, unfocused at first, but she was conscious—listening. Slowly, her hazy irises found Elliott, focusing on him with surprising clarity. What he expected was bitterness. What he saw instead was something else entirely—resignation. Not defeat, not anger. Just a woman tired of fighting.
"Emperor..." she rasped, her throat dry and broken from the blood she had coughed up. "And the prince. Come to see a ghost finally fade, haven't you?"
A weak, pained smile crept across her lips. "I heard she returned some time ago. Natural, I suppose... considering the news of your poisoning would have reached her."
Elliott's expression twisted, the faintest flicker of pain passing through it. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Aiden cut in—his voice low, clipped, steady.
"She didn't do it."
Sydney's gaze shifted away, drifting toward the ceiling. Her voice was weary, but still lucid. "You think I don't realize that? It is... not her. She won her war long ago. Her son sits on the throne, safe. That is... all she ever fought for. I am no threat to the emperor. She gains nothing by poisoning an already defeated, forgotten woman. I am gravely ill, Prince... not delusional."
Elliott felt something loosen inside his chest, the faintest surge of relief despite the crushing weight pressing down on him. Her words wouldn't matter to the court, not in the least. But for him—for this moment—they mattered. They eased, if only slightly, the heavy guilt coiled around his heart.
He spoke, his voice firm, formal, emperor-like. "I swear—I will find out who did this. They will be brought to justice. The healers are working tirelessly. I will make use of every way at my disposal to ensure you recover."
Sydney gave a small, almost pitiful shake of her head. A wry, broken smile touched her lips. "Those are empty words, Emperor. I am not as oblivious as you think. I will... not survive tonight."
Elliott started to protest, his mouth half open, but Sydney slowly raised her trembling hand. With surprising effort, she reached out and touched his, her frail fingers brushing his skin. The gesture was simple, but heavy—it silenced him at once.
"No," she whispered. A faint smile crossed her lips again, but it was softer now. "I have lingered in these halls long enough. If it is my time... then I ask you—let me go in peace. I lost the will to live long ago. And yet I lingered, because one must take all the breaths allotted to them. But if the gods are kind, and this is truly my end... then there is nothing I'd like more than to leave."
Her eyes locked onto his. They were steady. Sure. She had no illusions, no fear. And in that moment, all of Elliott's rehearsed reassurances died on his tongue. He saw it clearly— this was a woman who had already made peace with her end. No healer's remedies, no imperial decree could pull her back. You cannot save a person who has already decided they are dead.
Suddenly, her gaze sharpened. A desperate intensity broke through the haze. Her bony, trembling hand clutched Elliott's tightly, gripping with surprising strength.
"But I have... one wish." Her words came out breathless, halting. She was slipping— she knew it, and so did he. This might be the last thing she ever said.
"Name it," Elliott said at once. He leaned in close, straining to catch her words, determined not to miss a single one.
"My daughter... Elara." Her lips shaped the name like a prayer, trembling, fragile. "She was married away... to secure your place. I have not seen her in years." A tear slid down the curve of her weathered cheek. "After I die... let her come here. For just some time. I will already be gone, but... I wish for her to see me once, even if only in death. I want her to perform my last rites... not you. A mother should be sent to earth by her child."
The words struck Elliott like a blow. Elara. He had nearly forgotten. Sydney's only child—her daughter. About his age, married off far too young to a foreign king. A decision orchestrated by Gabriella, a move to safeguard his throne and succession. He knew, instantly, why Sydney had said not him. By protocol, as emperor and head of the Lancaster family, the duty of her last rites would fall to him. But he had no right to it. And deep down, he didn't even want it. They were never family—not in any way that mattered.
Elliott squeezed her trembling hand back. His darker skin looked like stark shadow against her pale, sickly one. "I swear it," he said, his voice low, thick with emotion. "On my name, and on my crown. Elara will be summoned and received with respect. As a daughter returning to her parental home should be. She will perform your rites. You have my word."
It was instinct, almost reckless. He didn't stop to weigh the consequences. He didn't stop to think how that vow might ripple outward, what dangers it might hold. And just like that, he had given his vow. And a vote, once made by a descendant of the sun, especially the heir, can never be broken. It is as resolute as the light of the sun itself, and clearly, Sydney knew this and what weight Elliott's words held.
A silence followed— profound, heavy, but oddly peaceful. Sydney's pain seemed to ease for the first time. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes closing again. "Now... leave an old woman to her rest."
Elliott nodded once. He rose, quietly, and Aiden followed. Neither lingered. Their steps were slow as they slipped out into the cold, silent corridor, the weight of the moment pressing down like a shroud.
Unbeknownst to them, somewhere far away, Cyrus smiled faintly. A thin, cruel smile. They had walked into his snare. Poisoning Sydney and throwing suspicion on Gabriella—that was just the prelude.
The real move had only just begun.
---
My book- 📚
My book of Elliott didn't make stupid righteous descisions and promises- 📜