A few days later, Helia had just finished preparing for her departure to the borderlands. Lucille, having disposed of all her former gowns, had left her with no choice but to summon the tailor once again in great haste, so that he might fashion garments that were simpler and more comfortable, suitable for travel and life within a military camp.
Yet even these new outfits, despite their deliberate simplicity, had been chosen to enhance her figure. Cool tones that flattered her complexion, a cut both understated and refined, perfectly suited to her movements. She took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading toward her brother's chamber, where she intended to bid him farewell.
Upon entering the room, she had to watch each step carefully so as not to shatter one of the many flower vases crowded around the bed. Lucian's chamber had become a veritable museum of support: bouquets upon bouquets, letters of encouragement, gifts in abundance. The attack had dominated the headlines, and her brother was now regarded as a hero, one who had bravely sacrificed himself to save his sister.
She was relieved to see that he had suffered no serious aftereffects. He was merely confined to bed for a time, but he would recover.
In recent days, the manor had been transformed into a constant stream of visitors and offerings for him. Every hour brought a new arrival: journalists, family members, friends, acquaintances, all eager to salute his courage. A spectacle that seemed to displease him very little.
It marked a positive conclusion to the affair. Even if justice could not prove that Adrian had orchestrated the attack, he would not, in any case, have achieved what he desired. It was the marquis, the true master of the game, who had taken matters into his own hands, summoning journalists to sell them the heroic narrative of his son.
His objective had been fulfilled: to prove to Adrian that his attempt at vengeance and humiliation had failed.
Lucian was lying on his bed, reading yet another letter with a satisfied smile, when Helia entered. His face still bore the marks of the attack: a broad, freshly stitched scar stretched across his forehead, partially concealed beneath his silver locks, and faint bruises marbled his pale skin. His right arm, fully encased in plaster, rested motionless against a pile of cushions. Despite his condition, he lifted his gaze toward his sister with an exaggeratedly dramatic expression, punctuating it with a theatrical sigh.
"So, you truly intend to leave? And abandon your poor, bedridden elder brother?" he asked, pressing his left hand to his chest as though standing on the edge of despair.
Helia rolled her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Stop pretending, Lucian. You adore this, lying in bed all day, surrounded by flowers, gifts, and letters from swooning admirers."
Lucian raised his arms in protest, feigning indignation.
"Is that truly how you see me?! It wounds me deeply," he replied, shaking his head with mock offense.
She fixed him with an amused look.
"I merely came to say goodbye. Try not to exhaust the servants too much with your whims."
At the same time, she handed him an object. Lucian took it instinctively and lowered his gaze: it was his invisibility bracelet.
"I had it recharged with mana," she added. "That way, you'll once again be able to use it to escape your responsibilities."
He exhaled softly, a slight smile curving his lips, before turning his head away. Receiving no reply, Helia turned on her heel and headed for the door. As she opened it, Lucian's voice reached her from behind.
"Take care of yourself…"
With her back still to him, she simply raised a hand in response before disappearing into the corridor. Without wasting a moment, she made her way to the front courtyard, where the carriage awaited her, ready to take her to the imperial palace.
Her four escorting knights, Sir Aldric among them, were already prepared. With a swift glance, she ensured that everything was in order before climbing aboard. As before, the marquis had not troubled himself to come and bid her farewell. She felt the same pang in her chest as during her previous departure, but she quickly brushed it aside. Long ago, she had learned to endure and accept her father's indifference.
Before joining the imperial convoy, she still had one final stop to make. Her carriage came to a halt before the white stone building that housed both the laboratory and the clinic. She disembarked at once and first made her way to the laboratory, where she retrieved several essential documents, before turning back toward the medical wing.
Today marked Sir Leon's discharge from the clinic. And she had promised to be there. He was the first of the venom's victims to be authorized to leave, though his condition still required weekly check-ups and a rigorous rehabilitation program.
With a brisk step, she crossed the familiar corridors of the clinic, offering brief greetings to the staff who recognized her.
When she reached the door to his room, she paused for a moment. Through the narrow opening, she caught sight of Rosalind seated on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, her expression stern, a glimmer of worry darkening her gaze.
Her beige gown, modest yet elegant in cut, clung to her figure with restraint, while her brown hair, gathered into an impeccable bun, reinforced the severity of her appearance. Leon, for his part, was propped up against the pillows, his still-livid complexion betraying the gravity of his condition, yet his radiant smile seemed wholly untouched.
"So, you persist in believing that my return home is a mistake?" he said, a defiant spark in his eyes.
Rosalind looked him up and down, her skeptical expression unchanged.
"I do not merely believe it. I am certain of it," she replied firmly. "You are still far too weak."
Leon shrugged lightly, an amused smile on his lips.
"And yet, the physicians believe otherwise."
"The physicians will not have to endure you on a daily basis," she retorted, crossing her arms more tightly.
A soft laugh escaped Leon.
"How curious, for it seems to me that it was you yourself who insisted on moving into my home to oversee my recovery."
With a teasing smile, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of Rosalind's hair before gently tucking it behind her ear. "I confess, I am quite eager to see how you intend to take care of me," he added, his eyes sparkling.
She flushed at once and pushed his hand away brusquely.
"Yes, well, I am already beginning to regret that decision," she muttered, turning her gaze aside.
Helia watched their exchange with mild amusement. They were opposites in every way: Leon, radiant and laughing, stubbornly clinging to optimism despite the pain; and Rosalind, pragmatic and outwardly severe, yet whose concern betrayed itself in every gesture. It was evident that they loved one another.
She knocked discreetly on the door, somewhat embarrassed to have witnessed such an intimate exchange between the two fiancés. Not wishing to interrupt them further, she waited patiently for them to notice her presence.
Leon was the first to react. A brilliant smile lit up his weary face when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. Rosalind, meanwhile, stiffened instantly, her complexion turning scarlet with embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze, clearly anxious that their conversation might have been overheard.
"Lady Helia, you came!" Leon exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm. Then, as if suddenly remembering, his expression grew more serious. "I read the newspapers… How is your brother recovering? And you? How are you holding up?"
She returned his smile, though it softened at the edges.
"As promised. He is recovering steadily," she replied with composed calm. "And I have regained my footing as well." A faint pause, then she tilted her head slightly. "But tell me, how are you feeling, Sir Leon?"
Then, turning toward Rosalind, she inclined her head slightly in greeting.
"Rosalind, I am delighted to see you again."
Still flushed, Rosalind responded with a discreet nod, choosing not to dwell on the recent events. Leon, meanwhile, leaned back against the pillows with feigned nonchalance and declared cheerfully,
"In excellent shape, as you can see. I shall finally be leaving this hospital, and my wonderful fiancée will take perfect care of me until my full recovery. Nothing could bring me greater satisfaction."
Stung by the remark, Rosalind delivered a light blow to his shoulder.
"Stop spouting such nonsense!" she snapped, turning her gaze away, clearly more flustered than she wished to admit.
Leon, far from being unsettled by her reaction, merely laughed softly.
Helia observed their dynamic with quiet amusement before replying,
"I am pleased to see that you are improving. Do not forget, however, to follow your treatment and rehabilitation program scrupulously."
Rosalind, arms crossed knowingly, cast a pointed look at Leon before nodding.
"Do not worry Helia. I shall personally ensure that he adheres to every medical recommendation."
Leon raised an eyebrow toward his fiancée, half-amused, half-resigned, before turning his attention back to Helia.
"You are returning to the camp today?" he asked, his voice losing some of its lightness.
She simply nodded.
A fleeting trace of regret crossed Leon's gaze, though his smile did not waver.
"Then I suppose I must wish you courage," he added, with a hint of bitterness. "Continue saving lives, Lady Helia."
She caught the nuance in his tone and his eyes; the subtle tension did not escape her. Rosalind, for her part, chose to intervene, arms still crossed, expression closed.
"Pay no attention to him," she said, her voice sharper than usual.
"He is frustrated at being unable to return to the front."
Leon sighed, his gaze drifting to the immaculate sheets of his bed.
"And how could I not be?" he murmured, his tone heavier than before. "The country is in crisis, and I remain confined here, powerless."
Rosalind did not allow him to linger in self-pity. Her gaze darkened, and her voice grew firm.
"You should consider yourself fortunate to be merely confined to a bed, and not dead."
Sensing the abrupt shift in atmosphere, Helia deemed it time to take her leave. She straightened and offered them one last look, her expression slightly softened.
"I merely wished to wish you a good departure from the clinic. Now I must be on my way. Take care of yourselves, both of you."
Without waiting for a reply, she pivoted on her heel and left the room, leaving the fiancés alone with their thoughts.