Demian fell silent. He remembered that promise. Spoken by a much younger version of himself, under pressure, before the emperor and the elders. A vow that had never truly been born of his own will.
"If I must die," Ivanka whispered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, "let me die as your wife. Not as a woman abandoned by her own bond."
The door opened softly.
Marquess Kosler entered, his steps heavy. He stopped several paces from the bed and for the first time, he knelt.
"Demian," he said hoarsely. "As her father… I beg you. She has no time left. If this can give her peace at the end—"
The physician behind him bowed his head deeply. "Medically," he said quietly, "Lady Ivanka's emotional state greatly affects her condition. If she is calm… it may not heal her, but it may at least not hasten the end."
All eyes turned to Demian.
