Chapter 15: Lamed Lion

The days in the castle grew darker, not only with the absence of Queen Namia and her children but with the slow, agonizing decline of King Mathias. Once a strong and commanding figure, capable of rallying armies and making swift, decisive decisions for his kingdom, the king now lay bedridden, his body failing him in ways he had never imagined possible. His once-vibrant eyes, filled with the light of a ruler, were now clouded with pain and confusion. Each breath he took seemed more laboured than the last, and his attempts to speak were reduced to hoarse whispers that only those closest to him could understand.

It had started with the wound to his shoulder. A deep gash from the sword of an assassin, one of the many who had stormed the castle on that fateful night. At first, the injury had seemed manageable. He had lost blood, yes, but the physicians had attended to him quickly, and the wound was stitched up. However, as the days passed, the pain intensified, and new symptoms began to emerge. His left arm, the side that had been struck, began to lose feeling. What had been a simple bruise soon turned into a debilitating numbness that spread across his chest and down his side, eventually leaving him unable to move his lower body.

The paralysis started gradually, creeping up from his legs until his entire lower half was rendered useless. It was a slow, cruel fate. The king, who had once prided himself on his physical prowess, now found himself unable to stand, his body betraying him with each passing hour. His hands, once strong enough to wield a sword or hold the reins of his kingdom, trembled uncontrollably at his sides.

Queen Celeste had become his steadfast caretaker. Though the events of the assassination attempt had left her shaken and deeply worried for her own children's safety, she had not wavered in her duty to her husband. She spent every waking moment at his side, making sure he was fed, hydrated, and medicated. She would often whisper to him as she prepared the salves and potions, speaking softly to him as though her words alone could somehow reach him.

The weight of the situation bore down heavily on Queen Celeste. Her own worries for the whereabouts of Queen Namia and the children were compounded by the increasingly dire condition of her husband. He could no longer speak clearly, and though his eyes would occasionally flicker with recognition, there was no denying the depth of his suffering. Every time she attempted to engage him in conversation, to ask how he was feeling or to reassure him that everything would be okay, his response would be only a faint nod or a muted grunt.

This morning, like every other morning, Queen Celeste sat at the edge of his bed, spooning a small amount of medicine into his mouth. It had become a daily ritual. She would prepare the mixture herself, having memorized the dosage from the instructions. The concoction was bitter, a mix of various herbs and tonics that had been suggested by the royal physician, though it seemed to do little to ease the king's suffering.

As she gently tilted his head back to administer the medicine, she looked at him with a mixture of love and sorrow. His eyes were half-lidded, barely focused on her face. It was as if he were trapped in his own body, unable to escape the pain that consumed him. His hands, once steady and confident, now twitched and spasmed involuntarily, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

"Mathias," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You have to hold on."

There was no response, no acknowledgment from the king. Queen Celeste's heart tightened in her chest, but she forced herself to maintain her composure.

After giving him the medicine, she helped him sit up slightly, propping him against the pillows to prevent him from suffocating. His body was heavy, like a burden she had to bear, but she did it with a tenderness born from years of love. She had known him in his prime, before the throne had worn him down and the weight of the kingdom had exhausted him. She remembered the days when they had laughed together, their hearts light and full of hope. Now, those days seemed like distant memories, like something from another life.

As she adjusted the blankets around him, her thoughts drifted to Queen Namia and her children. She had not seen her daughter, Liria, or her son since that fateful night when the assassins had stormed the castle. She had no idea where they were, whether they were safe or in danger.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the room. A guard stepped into the doorway, his face grave.

"My queen," he said, bowing low. "There is still no word from our search parties. We've scoured the nearby forests and villages, but there's no sign of Queen Namia, the princess or the prince. It's as if they've vanished."

Queen Celeste's eyes flickered back to her husband, who had closed his eyes, seemingly unaware of the conversation happening around him. She knew how much he had hoped that the children had found safety, but now, with each passing day, that hope was beginning to fade.

"Send more men," she said, her voice firm despite the weariness in her tone. "We cannot give up on them. We must find them, The King would want that."

The guard nodded and left the room, but Celeste barely noticed. Her thoughts had returned to her husband, to the helpless man lying in the bed before her. It was a painful truth, but she knew it deep down: the king's condition was worsening faster than anyone could have anticipated. The paralysis that had started in his legs had now spread to his torso, and she feared that it would continue its crawl upward, eventually reaching his heart. There was no way to stop it. The physicians could offer no cures, no remedies. Only time would tell how long he had left.

She ran her fingers through his hair, the strands now thin and brittle beneath her touch. "I will not leave you, Mathias," she whispered softly. "I will be here, every moment, until the very end."

She didn't know how much longer she could keep up the facade of strength. The kingdom could fall apart without his leadership, and though she tried to maintain control, there was only so much she could do. The decisions that Mathias had made for the kingdom, the alliances he had formed, all seemed to be crumbling around her.

Another hour passed before a new voice interrupted her thoughts—a voice she had been dreading for days. The royal physician entered the room, his face pale and drawn.

"My queen," he said, his voice low, "I'm afraid that the king's condition is beyond what we can treat. The paralysis has spread to his chest and abdomen, and there is little we can do now except keep him comfortable."

Queen Celeste swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She had known this was coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud was a blow to her heart. "How long?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The physician hesitated, but then answered, "It's hard to say, my queen. Days, perhaps weeks... but it will not be long."

The Queen nodded. She had been prepared for this news, but it still hurt to hear it confirmed. She took the king's hand in hers, holding it tightly as though willing her strength into him.

"I won't leave you," she repeated, her voice barely audible. "We will face this together."

But as she sat there, holding her husband's hand, the weight of the kingdom pressing down on her shoulders, she knew that her strength might not be enough.