52: SHE LOSES HER MIND

The royal physician's chambers smelled of burning sage and aged parchment, the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs that clung to the walls like a lingering whisper of secrets. 

Zara sat on the cushioned bench, her back rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to maintain the facade of calm, but the tension coiled inside her like a viper ready to strike. 

The physician, a man with thinning white hair and a face lined with decades of experience, hummed thoughtfully as he took her wrist in his weathered hands. His fingers pressed against her pulse, his gaze sharp with silent calculation. Each moment he spent studying her felt like a lifetime, his scrutiny weighing down on her already fraying nerves. 

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. 

And then, at last, he stepped back, setting down his notes.