Chapter 42

For the past two days, August had been consumed by two things: managing the aftermath of the attempted assassination, the Second Prince of Themon was being closely monitored, and negotiations were underway to prevent a full-blown diplomatic crisis.

On the third day, the political fires finally died down. He just got back from visiting Nerina, her condition kept fluctuating, and though the healers had initially expressed cautious optimism, there had been no definitive sign of her waking up.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Eliana entered, her face still tired from lack of sleep, but her eyes held a sliver of hope.

"Your Majesty, there's been a change of Her Majesty."

August's heart skipped a beat. He hurried past her, not waiting for her to elaborate. He arrived at Nerina's room, where the healers were standing by her bedside. Her face seemed less pale than before, her breathing steady. But one thing is different about her, her hair color. It's black. 

"She's breathing fine," one of the healers said quietly, though they still spoke with caution. "but her hair slowly turned like this."

"Her hair... turned black?" August repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, gently taking a lock of her hair between his fingers. "What did you do to her?" I glared at them.

"We didn't do anything, Your Majesty,"her voice trembling slightly. "We don't know the cause. There was no sign of external magic or any spells affecting her. But we believe it may be connected to the attack she endured or... perhaps only her can explain."

After hearing this, Eliana thought deeply before speaking, "If I may not be rude, Your Majesty but I've frequently saw Her Majesty drink potions that is sent by her family and when I asked what it was, She always brushed it off, saying they were just remedies her family had used for generations." 

"Send a magical transmitter to her family, now" August commanded, his tone resolute. "I need their help."

Eliana bowed slightly and hurried out of the room to carry out his orders.

As soon as the magical transmitter was sent, Lysander wasted no time. Within minutes, he arrived at the entrance of the palace, his figure materializing from the magical aura. The royal guards, alerted to his arrival, immediately sought approval for his entry, but Lysander brushed them aside, his expression urgent.

"I seek an audience with Empress Nerina," Lysander repeated, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of barely contained fury.

The royal guards, unfazed, continued to block his path. One of them glanced at Lysander with a dismissive look and asked, "Where's your invitation?"

Lysander's patience was thinning rapidly. His sister lay unconscious, her life in the balance, and these guards were wasting precious time. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. "This is not the time for formalities," he said, his voice sharp as steel. "I don't need an invitation to see my sister."

The guards didn't budge, clearly under orders. "No invitation, no entry," one of them said flatly, as if this was just another ordinary day.

That was the last straw.

Lysander's eyes flared with magical energy. In one swift motion, he extended his hand, and a wave of force surged forward, knocking the guards unconscious before they could even react. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, powerless against his magic. Lysander didn't spare them a second glance as he strode past their fallen forms, his expression hard and determined.

The palace halls echoed with his hurried footsteps as he asked any passing servants and officials for directions to the king's office. Most were too startled by his imposing presence to refuse him, pointing him in the right direction without question.

Without waiting for an invitation, Lysander pushed open the door to find Augustus standing at his desk, surprise flickering across his face at Lysander's sudden entrance.

The moment Lysander laid eyes on Augustus, his rage surged like a tidal wave. Before he could stop himself, his fist shot out, connecting with Augustus's face in a powerful, swift jab. The impact echoed in the room, and Augustus staggered back, clutching his nose as blood began to drip.

"Sorry about that, Your Majesty," Lysander crossed his arms, still feeling a surge of satisfaction as he looked at the blood on Augustus's face. His apology had been more out of obligation than genuine regret.

"I deserve that," Augustus said calmly, wiping his nose but showing no anger in his voice or stance. "Now, where's my sister?" Lysander demanded, cutting straight to the point, his voice cold.