The King's Apology

May 23. Early morning.

The headache sears through my skull like it's going to get cracked open like a coconut. It is so intense, in fact, that I'm beginning to see double. There are two identical women hovering above me, looking very concerned. 

"Miss… are you alright?" Their voices meld into a haunting echo.

My eyelids are leaden, my speech a distant thought. I press my palms against my face, seeking solace in the darkness.

"W-we have prepared some clove oil for your massage a-and also… some peppermint tea. Would you like some?" one stammers. I can only muster a feeble hand gesture.

"Just… one minute… please," I whisper through gritted teeth.

"God. Do you have something for headaches? This is killing me." I say, propping myself up on the bed. It's not my bed. My bed is like concrete. Metal. Not this downy, fluffy material that contours itself to my back and hips. I am clearly in some strange place but I'll deal with that after my headache subsides. 

"Ah yes, Delia!" one woman exclaims, her hand finding the other's shoulder. "Quickly, fetch the sap for the Miss." The other, whom I had dismissed as a hallucination, nods and dashes from the room.

So there are two of them after all.

"This is to be expected. You had a pretty steep fall, miss. We are glad you were able to survive with no major injury." she says sweetly. Although my eyesight is all foggy and unreliable, I could tell she was gently smiling as she said this. 

That's right. I was not supposed to survive. I specifically chose a tower high enough to kill me upon contact with the ground. And when I had made up my mind, I hesitated. Even so, I clearly remember being pushed off. And when I thought I died, I some how woke up here.

This wasn't heaven as I first suspected it to be. Although, Earth nowadays is touted as 'Heaven' with all the Angels going around, anyway. From the sound of it, this girl seems to be a healer, just like me, given the fervent 'miss'es. That's how we're trained to address superior, more important Angels of society. Misses and Masters.

She probably doesn't know I'm one of you. 

"Thanks…" I rasp. "And also, I am Healer too so— "

"Oh! the medicine is here!" The girl gasps, turning around. Delia runs up to her, panting. She must have put her all into it. "There you go, Macy. The Royal Healer had it ready to go, fortunately."

"I appreciate it, Delia. Now the miss will feel better soon." 

Fair enough, it's the Royal Healer after all. About ten seconds after taking the putrid concoction, I am feeling fresh as a raindrop. Now that my eyes are finally unfogged, I take in the room I'm in. 

I've never been in a circular room before, the mere thought is so bizarre, of course the royals would have something like this in their colossal castle. The room is decorated with ruby red upholstery and golden embellishments of tassels and vines, while marble cherubs pour forth streams of crystalline water. The walls boast baroque masterpieces, and a Persian carpet sprawls beneath my feet. The two girls, Macy and Delia look to be identical twins. The same face, one with a mole on her cheek and blue eyes, Delia. The other with brown eyes and a cleft chin, Macy. They are clad in frilly, tiffany blue of the Royal Workforce. 

Now coming to the main question. What the heck am I doing here? It better not be anything related to my suicide attempt. Fortunately for me, healer suicides aren't all that rare, plus there are loads of replacements for us. So it's not really a punishable offense.

I remember it vaguely. Gushing winds atop Wilmus Tower, welcoming me to take the leap. I was in a daze and it was mercilessly cold night with a half-moon looming over my head. I felt so useless, so utterly unplaced in this world that I thought it would be better to end things than to keep on living like a rag. When I took that leap, I was ready to embrace the finality of peace, not to end up here, saved. Why I made that decision, should not fall upon anyone's ears. I have to take that to my grave.

I need to find out now though - how I'm completely unscathed. Who saved me? Why?

"Do any of you know what is going on? Was I summoned here for a reason?" I ask, dodging the fact that I was rescued. 

"Well, we heard, you were rescued from the Wilmus Tower by the Royal Police." Macy tells me and Delia confirms that with a nod. "Yes, we were told to take care of you until you gain consciousness and inform the King as soon as possible."

"The King?!" I exclaim. I wanted to keep this investigative conversation short and to the point but looks there is much more to this situation than I thought. The King doesn't involve himself in the matters related to Healer welfare. Heck, not even his ministry involves themselves in our matters. We are treated as well as disposable cutlery. No one gives a damn about us. This has to be big.

I have to be careful about what I tell the King. It's not typical for royalty to get involved for a simple suicide attempt. It may help to not tell the King that I was pushed off if I am to know his true motives of bringing me here. I have to act like a helpless idiot. 

"Yes, the King. I told his attendant on the way to get the sap and well, we don't know much about it but —"

" — but we heard the palace guards chatting about it. This has to do with the prince's betrothal."

"...okay? Am I supposed to like… pretty him up for the suitor meeting or something?"

I could. That's one among many tasks, healers could perform. It was the nature of our Angelic powers - to improve - upon health, upon beauty, upon vitality. 

Both of them stay painfully quiet at my attempted sarcasm. Royalty related, nah-nah, too blasphemous. I need to pick a new icebreaker.

"I'm joking." I scoff. "Why would you pull a near corpse off the cobbled streets under Wilmus to help out the prince."

That was humor they could appreciate and all three of us start giggling. 

"Just call me Judah. I am Judah Garari." I say, smiling at them.

"Judah Garari," Macy repeats, smiling back at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Delia's nod echoes her sister's sentiment. Their warmth is almost enough to make me forget where I am. Almost.

Suddenly, the grand mahogany doors at the far end of the room creak open. The two healers immediately straighten up, their faces turning ashen. The shift in the room's atmosphere is palpable. My heart pounds, a knot tightening in my stomach.

I hear a guard's deafening roar — "All hear, His Majesty, Regis Reynard the Second, is entering the premises!"

"Calm down, Michael." The king pats the guard's shoulder, earning him a squeak. He enters the room and immediately I feel a sense of familiarity when I see him. He could be any older gentleman on the side of the street, selling bouquets of flowers. Any grandpa who you give your seat to, on the bus ride. Only he is intimidatingly tall but scrawny, with a short white stubble and large, doe-like eyes that are an irritating shade of acid green. Almost like frogs, insect goo - I don't know. I don't like the color. It is menacing.

Regis Reynard II has the aura of being as sweet a nectar with the penetrating gaze as painful as a sting of a bee. I hardly find it possible to feel comfortable in his presence. His appearance though exactly explains his reputation. He is infamous for being a ruler with an iron hand. Not one to be sweet or benevolent, but one to ensure that society progresses in the face of calamity. 

"Well, well. How is Miss Garari faring?" The King's smile is a mask of pleasantry as he dismisses Macy and Delia. They retreat, their hurried steps betraying their unease. Alone now, his gaze strips away any pretense of safety I felt. I feel naked.

The King addressed me, a healer, as a 'Miss'. Looks like the old man has some humor in him.

"Y-your majesty…" I say, giving him a respectful bow of my head. 

Never in my life did I think I'd be face to face with a Regis. To stand before a Regis is to stand before the sun—blinding, unattainable. Although we are both Angels of the Earth, our work sets us apart. He is the ruler of all Angel-kind, the one with supreme power — an Angel of the Light. And I'm a mere odd-job worker. An Angel of the Healings. 

"How are you feeling now? No broken bones, I trust," he muses, his voice a melody laced with poison. "It would be such a shame to mar the skin of a maiden."

He walks up to me cautiously. "What brought you to Wilmus Tower, Miss Garari? It's hardly a place for idle visits."

His question rings in my head uncomfortably. I feared this very confrontation. What do I tell this man that will convince him I just foolishly decided to jump off.

"Are you unhappy with something? You can tell your King."

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. 

"It was a lapse in judgment, your majesty. It was the huge toll of daily work and nothing but a mere momentary weakness..."

"You know that my people, the good people of this Earth are important to me. Especially after all we have been through together post the Falling of the Sky. That tragedy." He shakes his head in sorrow. But he is just so transparent, as if he wants me to see through the facade.

"Of course!" I gasp. "Regis, your majesty, you take care of your people like we are your own."

His eyes search for the truth within me. As an Angel of Light, he could probably see through the veil of lies.

He seats himself beside me, his proximity a cage. "Would you permit me to rectify this error, dear?" he proposes, his words a silken thread ensnaring me.

"There's no need—" I protest, but he cuts me off.

"Allow us the honor of welcoming you into our family. My son, Ektor, would be a suitable match for you."

I am rendered utterly speechless.

"Y-your majesty, I am unworthy of such honor," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "I am but a Healer, and your son, a prince."

That would be comically preposterous. A prince and a healer? It's like marrying of a Bengal Tiger to a donkey. It's unimaginable. I'm sure in some universe, it would be blasphemous. 

He leans forward, his presence enveloping me. "Judah, in our world, the lines that divide us are but illusions. If you think that low of yourself, how do you think anyone will give any level of regard to Healers?"

His words strangely strike a chord with me. 

The King's eyes softened as he regarded me, a shift in his demeanor that suggested a forthcoming confession. "Judah, you must understand the gravity of the situation our healers face. They are the backbone of our society, yet they remain underappreciated and overworked."

I listened intently, the King's words painting a picture of a reality I knew all too well. The plight of the healers was not just my own but a shared burden among my kind.

"You have been chosen not by mere chance, but by necessity," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken promises. "Your union with Ektor will symbolize a new era, one where healers are revered as they should be."

The idea of being a symbol, a beacon of hope for my fellow healers, stirred something within me. Could I truly be the harbinger of change?

"The people of Earth need to see that we, the rulers, stand with them. Your marriage to Ektor will not only unite two souls but will also mend the rift between the crown and the healers. It will be a testament to our commitment to their welfare and dignity."

In a mere half an hour, this man has managed to confuse me to my wit's end. I don't know whether I should trust him or not. 

"You must be a part of this mission, without fail." He tells me, with a very disingenuous pat to my arm. With this now, it is certain I must take my secret to the grave.