The first signs were subtle – a paleness that went beyond her natural fair complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes that no amount of rest seemed to cure. Elara dismissed the symptoms, too engrossed in her garden's progress to heed her body's warnings. But on the third week of her stay in Nocturn, reality caught up with brutal efficiency.
She collapsed in the middle of court, her elegant black gown pooling around her like spilled ink as she crumpled to the marble floor. Draven caught her before her head could strike the stone, moving with inhuman speed that left the assembled nobles gasping.
"Your Majesty!" Lydia's cry echoed through the great hall. The maid rushed forward, her face pale with fear. "She's been getting weaker, my lord. I should have said something sooner..."