Finding Some Clues

As soon as Anasthasia cast a spell, the miasma retracted to the room's corner until it vanished into thin air. At this point, the air around her gave so much clarity. Although the uneasiness in her heart never subsided, not an ounce of it. She unconsciously tugged Michael's cape while she searched for the anomalies within the room.

"Michael, don't you feel nauseous in this room?"

Confusion surfaced in Michael's eyes, and this made Ana think of something else.

'Either he's adapted to this condition, or he couldn't detect it at all. I'd like to believe the former.'

Strutting to the nearby wall, she reached out her hands, awestruck, just as she thought the wall stood the test of time. Hand grazed over the seamless texture, sensing the mana imbuement in it.

Arching her neck, she noticed how the large paintings looked down on her—awestruck, but her eyes never lingered on them further.

'I love that antiquity yet substantial elegance that vanity over there has to offer. With the same motif as the room, my eyes ogled from these.'

Her gaze roamed the room once more, so far, and there aren't any points that roused any suspicions. Furrowed brows came to play but then set aside her muddled thoughts as she prowled closer to the man.

The bed had a canopy—an exquisite mahogany wood with that hovered over the King, accented with a blood-red curtain, cascading smoothly to the cream porcelain floor.

'With his thin silky outfit, his silhouette is visible—a malnourished one at that.'

On the other hand, Michael went to the other side of the bed and stood with arms crossed. He checked her out as her mouth moved without any sounds.

"May I take a closer look?"

'My, look at how grave those sucked-in cheeks and chapped lips. This is worse than I thought.'

With his cue, Anasthasia sat at the edge of the bed. She placed her hand over the King's scare-crow fingers. She took a deep breath as she began to give an approximation unto his body mass.

"A little moment, I would like to ask this first. He's bedridden for...?"

"For about five years." Michael averted his gaze, and Anasthasia narrowed her eyes as to how he gnashed his jaw.

"It's been that long already."

Her fingers tapped on her lap as she set her tone while she queried, "How did he live this long?"

"We have royal abjurers who undertook the job for this. It's on a schedule as well."

"He's hanging by a thread, and they could only do their utmost job to this?" Anasthasia spat.

Michael didn't refute her accusations as though it was a nail from the head. Even he pleaded but led to no avail. This was as far as they could go. Meanwhile, Anasthasia shifted to the side and observed the sickly body once more. Only, her eyes widened out of disbelief.

'What is this?! Isn't this the same miasma that filled the room earlier, found in his body? It's as though—'

"Tasha?" His voice rang to her ears that snapped her from the chaotic ebb and flow of thoughts.

"Do you know anything about this miasma?"

"I'm afraid not, Tasha."

'This doesn't make sense!' She nibbled on her bottom lip, but eyes sparked while she sharply gawked at Michael. 'Maybe I should recheck him?!'

Thereon, she found negligible results. She scratched her head with the problem at hand and brought her attention back to the King.

"The miasma corroded his body."

From her peripheral vision, she noticed how his stature shuddered from her claims, leaving him lost in confusion as he mused with a hushed tone, "...I beg your pardon?"

"There seemed to be a problem within his body. My diagnosis, for now, is pretty much superficial though I strongly believe it is somehow related to this miasma." Anasthasia propped her palm underside of her chin.

"Is there anything we could do at this point?"

"I would like to cast the same spell I used to remove the miasma—"

Michael's eyes lit up as he interrupted her, utterance, "Please—!"

"Not so fast, it's a temporary measure."

His eyes turned dull, unable to fully digest her every word. "What?"

"For as long as we can't pinpoint the source of this miasma, then it would continue to pervade and eventually to his body."

Anasthasia saw the sadness clouded his features coupled with his slumped shoulders down to his loosened grips. Her hands clenched on the red satin bedsheets.

"There might be another factor. Forgive my cautiousness; we can't jump to conclusions as this seemed like someone's pulling strings. Carefully planned murder... prolonged one, that is."

Her head shot up and watched his reaction only to find the stifled smile and clouded grey eyes.

"So, you knew." Eyes shut as she sighed in silence.

"It has to be a murder veiled under natural limelight."

"Then—"

"But all my speculations and efforts of finding evidence, for several years, hadn't come to fruition."

Anasthasia nodded from his long remarks. It's been a while since he last spoke a lot. The silence between them loomed as what it seemed forever. Fortunately, Michael quipped back his tone.

"I do believe there's something more than it meets the eye."

"You mean…"

"With your idea about this miasma, the thing that I knew nothing at all, added a messier layer for me."

"Since we have reached thus far, would it be better if you could share what you've known? Maybe we can connect them to pieces."

Michael nodded crisply, kneading his forehead's temples.

"So, what would be your next course of action?"

He tilted his head with brows knitted in doubt. "Would regulating his health suffice?"

"Healing doesn't exactly solve anything but only prolong one's agony."

I know but—"

"If you ask me." Anasthasia stood and smoothed down her cloak with her slender fingers. "This is a risky one. I can't use 'Regeneration' as it consumes the reservoir in his body, forcing him to be back in good shape. I'm sure you know what's next."

Michael squinted his eyes, clicking his tongue. "Any options?"

"We'll see. It's a risky mission we're undertaking, Michael. I ought to be careful, and so do you."

Anasthasia somehow felt the tug in her heart, made her strut towards the vanity. The curiosity got ahead of her, and as she drew closer, it piqued her interest. It was a beautiful flora, encased in a glass jar.

'A wonderful flower this is, such purple glossy petals bloomed—'

She halted her praises as she scoured at the flower, and at the very core, there's a raging miasma inside; its attempt to escape was evident.

She sucked in a cold breath, flailing her arm as he beckoned him with her hasty voice, "Michael! Come here, faster!"

Michael brisked then went close to her side. He leaned only to see her astonished look that, in turn, had him in bewilderment.

"This flower might be the cause!" Joy erupted from her hushed voice as she set her palms on the smooth surface of the vanity.

"You mean the miasma came from this flower?"

Anasthasia rolled her eyes. "Duh, what else would it be—"

All of a sudden, Michael grabbed her arm and dashed towards the room divider. Things happened so fast that her vision rolled until a soft thud heard from her back, which then bloomed a stinging pain.

His rash actions earned a grumble from her. "What are you thinking—?!" He covered her mouth with his palm while he caught her slender frame in his arm.

Anasthasia, wrapped in his embrace, oddly made her shiver in elation.

Michael's face drew close as he opted for a shushing sound; warm air blew past her left ear. She felt her spine stiffened, and her heart skipped a beat.

'He's so close! Why does he have to do this? I—'

Anasthasia widened her eyes as she realized how close they were. Beneath their capes and cloaks laid down their thin fabrics that prompted as to their second skin. To her, it was another electrocution all over her body.

The time ticked so slow the more she went into further details—how his chest rose and fell with calm, warm breaths that caressed against her, how his musky scent assaulted her nose, and how she could hear his heartbeat so different and not chaotic as hers.

'His torso collided with mine, which didn't differ from what I felt from the dresser!'

"Tasha, they're coming..." he whispered.

Anasthasia attempted to move her legs, but the cramped space failed her to do so. Her bare legs rubbed alongside his trousers. She could only hold unto herself.

Initially, her eyes gaped but then narrowed. His eyes never landed her way since he did it. He averted, with his face turned vigilant.

'I know he has an exceptional sense of hearing—'

The door creaked once more, and a couple of footsteps heard.

Though what shocked them most was the familiar voice.

"How's my father?"