May Every Wound Be Fatal - vanish into fiction

The quiet reception room was empty and dark. Before opening the door leading into the inner chamber, Hilda paused for no reason, straightened her clothes, and took a long breath.

Knock, knock.

After a perfunctory knock, she pushed the heavy door open. The first thing that greeted her was a thick, humid air, heavy with steam and the faint medicinal scent of herbal baths that lingered throughout the bedroom.

Beyond the layered curtains surrounding the massive bed, Priscilla was visible, reclining slightly with her upper body raised. A young maid stood beside her, helping her drink water.

As a consequence of months spent suffering from fever, Priscilla’s strength was nothing like before. Rather than improving with time, her body had grown weaker and more frail—almost like that of an elderly woman nearing her final days. In stark contrast to rumors that the queen was miraculously beginning to walk again.

With a weak gesture, Priscilla signaled to the maid that she was finished, then let her head fall back onto the pillow, turning only her eyes toward Hilda.

“…Lady Priscilla.”

Hilda barely managed to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile as she approached.

Priscilla asked calmly, “Where were you?”

“You were looking for me? It was only for a moment… I just went to check on the prince.”

In truth, she hadn’t properly checked on Lucian for quite some time due to Priscilla’s worsening condition, but Hilda brushed it off casually.

She spent nearly all her time by Priscilla’s side, unable to leave her even for a moment in fear that she might deteriorate further.

Six years ago, when House Dazbel burned down the southern coastal city of Ibella and her hometown, Orensa Island, Priscilla had been the only person left to Hilda. More than Lucian himself, Priscilla was the one she could not bear to lose.

“You barely ate anything today. I’m worried. Even if it’s late, would you like something light?”

Priscilla shook her head weakly, offering a faint smile as if apologizing.

Hilda didn’t want her to feel burdened, so she brightened her voice on purpose.

“Then I’ll brush your hair. I bought new oil earlier. They say it’s very high quality—quite expensive, too.”

“Alright.”

As Hilda moved briskly around the room, Priscilla silently watched her before murmuring to herself,

“It must be hard for you, not resting at all because of me…”

“…Please don’t say things like that.”

Hilda, returning with a small bottle of oil, couldn’t stop her expression from crumpling in sadness for a moment.

Feeling guilty again, Priscilla changed the subject instead.

“Is Lucian asleep?”

Hilda hesitated briefly, then sat at the edge of the bed and quickly composed herself.

“Yes. He spent the entire afternoon running around with the knights and fell asleep without even washing up. Lady Margery has long since fallen behind his stamina. I think you’ll need to find a new nanny soon.”

She embellished a little, mixing in assumptions with the complaints she had heard earlier from Lucian’s nanny, Margery.

At that, Priscilla let out a soft laugh.

“Haha… come to think of it, Margery must be over fifty by now. Or was it already long ago? She must have had a hard life, her back is already bent… Everyone must be working hard for Lucian.”

At Priscilla’s quiet laughter, a gentle smile spread across Hilda’s lips as well.

“It’s no trouble. Of course, it would be best if Lady Priscilla recovered soon and spent time with the prince.”

“Yes… I should recover quickly. I just don’t seem to have much strength lately.”

Though a faint smile remained on Priscilla’s lips, there was uncertainty in her voice.

She avoided showing her illness to Lucian. She didn’t want to be remembered by a child as someone slowly dying before his eyes.

Of course, she also knew that disappearing like this was not good for him either. Yet every time she thought she would get better “just a little more,” days slipped by without her noticing.

Priscilla knew what the problem was. It wasn’t her body—it was her heart. A lingering sickness of the mind. She was exhausted by her inability to let go of the past, but in truth, it was something she could not easily overcome.