Even as Thalora remained unmoving on her bed, she felt a sudden, violent twisting in her gut that set her imdiately on edge. It was not a simple discomfort, but a deep, instinctive unease that made her restless in a way she could neither ignore nor suppress. Panic began to creep in, coiling tighter with every passing second.
She called out as loudly as she could, pleading for soone to co and help her from the bed. Her body was still far too weak to perform even the simplest task of standing or walking on her own. Each attempt to raise her voice sent a sharp ache through her throat; her vocal cords, still tender from prolonged disuse, protested against the sudden strain she forced upon them. Still, she did not stop.
Again and again, she called out, desperation lending strength to her weakening voice, hoping that soone beyond the door might hear her. But no one ca.
There was no sound of approaching footsteps, and no voice answered in return. The silence that followed her cries felt deafening, pressing in on her from all sides. It beca painfully clear that, in that mont, she was utterly alone.
The restlessness within her only worsened, growing more unbearable with each passing heartbeat. She knew this feeling. It was not unfamiliar to her. It was the sa dreadful sensation that seized her whenever sothing was terribly wrong, sothing that involved one of her children.
The Liraelith shared a bond unlike any other, a deep, unbreakable connection with their living kin. Among sisters, that bond was even stronger. It was this very connection that had told Thalora, without a single word spoken, that her sister, Myrdena, was gone from this world. It was the sa instinct that had told the truth to her—that her son still lived, despite what Circe had been led to believe.
And now, that sa bond scread at her.
Sothing was terribly wrong with her daughter.
There was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. She had to get to Circe and she had to do it now. But she could not do that if she remained trapped on the bed.
Drawing on every ounce of strength she could muster, Thalora forced her uncooperative body to move. Her muscles trembled violently with the effort as she struggled to shift her legs, inch by inch, until she managed to push herself upright into a sitting position. The movent alone left her breathless, as though she had run a great distance.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed on. Slowly, she adjusted her position until her legs dangled over the edge of the bed. The cool air against her skin sent a faint shiver through her, but she paid it no mind. She was already breathing heavily from the exertion, her body protesting every movent, yet she refused to stop.
All that remained was to stand.
She gripped the edge of the bed tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric. With her feet planted against the floor, she pushed herself upward.
For a fleeting mont, she stood. But her balance faltered almost imdiately. Her legs trembled violently beneath her, barely able to support her weight. She managed only three unsteady steps before her strength gave out entirely.
She fell.
Her body hit the floor hard, the impact sending a sharp, jarring pain through her knees and up her spine. A hiss escaped her lips as the ache reverberated through her. Yet even that was not enough to stop her.
Determination burned through the pain. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself forward, ignoring the protests of her battered body as she began to crawl. Each movent was slow and labored, but she dragged herself across the floor nonetheless, driven by nothing but sheer will.
Getting to the door. That was all that mattered.
When she finally reached it, she raised her trembling fists and began to pound against the smooth wooden surface. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet room. She kept at it, striking the door over and over again until her knuckles throbbed with pain, the skin already beginning to redden and bruise.
Still, she did not stop.
She knocked and called out, her voice hoarse, her breaths ragged, pouring every last ounce of strength into the effort. She refused to give in, not when her daughter might be in danger.
Then she heard it. The faint click of the handle being tested from the other side.
Relief surged through Thalora. If the handle was moving, then soone was there. Soone had heard her.
A second later, the door was wrenched open, and one of the maids stepped into the doorway.
The woman’s eyes imdiately fell upon Thalora’s crumpled form on the floor, and a mixture of shock and confusion washed over her face. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, quickly bending down to help Thalora up.
"Oh my, what are you doing down there? How did you get there?" the maid exclaid, her words tumbling over one another in her haste. Her gaze flickered briefly toward the disheveled bed before returning to Thalora, understanding beginning to dawn even before an explanation could be given.
The maid didn’t seem perturbed by Thalora’s unusual appearance and her unmistakable fae features. Ragnar had already inford Nieah of his decision to allow a fae to remain within the manor, and Nieah, in turn, had discreetly passed that information along to the rest of the staff. They had been warned not to react should they encounter her, and more importantly, they had been strictly instructed that the matter must never leave the estate.
They all knew better than to defy Ragnar’s orders. They had all heard of his temper when unleashed and none of them wished to be on the receiving end of it.
"Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" the maid asked, her voice softening with genuine concern as she wrapped an arm around Thalora to steady her.
Relief quickly gave way to urgency.
This was her chance. If she was going to reach Circe, it would be through this maid.
"Please... take to the lady of the house," Thalora said, her voice weak but insistent. She chose her words carefully, withholding the truth of her identity. Circe’s mother was believed to be dead, and she could not risk revealing too much.
The maid frowned slightly. "You wish to see her Highness?"
Thalora nodded, her expression tightening with desperation.
"Please," she urged, her voice trembling. "I beg you. Sothing is wrong, I can feel it. There is sothing happening to her. My magic... it is telling so, and I cannot ignore it."She tightened her grip on the maid’s arm, as though afraid the opportunity might slip away if she loosened it even slightly.
"I cannot just stand by and do nothing," she continued, her voice thick with urgency. "Not after she granted sanctuary in her ho. Please... help get to her."
The maid stared at her for a long, drawn-out mont, her gaze intent as she carefully weighed Thalora’s words.
"I am only a kitchen maid. I might not even be able to help you. Worse, I could be turned away at the door," she said at last. Her voice carried hesitation. She fell silent for a few seconds, her brows knitting together as sothing deeper stirred within her. Then she added more quietly. "But you are not the only one who sensed that sothing was wrong, and I feel that if I do not do sothing about it, I might never forgive myself."
With that, the maid slipped an arm around Thalora, steadying her fragile fra, and helped her take a careful step toward the wide-open door. Thalora’s strength was still greatly diminished but the maid bore her weight without complaint. Together, they moved through the winding hallways, their pace slow but determined. Every step seed to stretch into eternity, yet the maid did not falter, even though the journey took twice as long as it ordinarily would have.
At last, they ca to a stop in front of Circe’s bedchambers. The maid lifted her hand and knocked three tis against the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed faintly in the hall. After a few tense seconds, the door creaked open, revealing Nieah, who looked both anxious and panicked. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear.
Thalora had already sensed that sothing was terribly wrong, but the sight of Nieah’s expression only confird her worst fears.
"Please... please let us in. I want to see her. I need to help her," Thalora pleaded, her voice raw and hoarse from the strain of her earlier cries. Though she was a queen, there was no trace of pride in her now, only desperation. She was not above begging, not when her daughter’s life and well-being hung in the balance.
Nieah searched her face for a brief mont. The sincerity in Thalora’s eyes was plain for all to see. Without another word, she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let them pass.
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