Chapter 62: Still Fighting

The private ICU room was unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to swallow every sound before it could travel beyond the walls. The only interruption came from the steady, rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor positioned beside the hospital bed, each soft beep marking another heartbeat, another confirmation that the man lying beneath the white sheets was still alive. The room was spacious but clinical, its walls painted a sterile shade of white, with a large window covered by partially drawn blinds that allowed only a thin wash of muted light to filter inside.

A small bedside table stood within arm’s reach of the bed, holding a few untouched bottles of water and medical supplies, while a rolling IV stand stood beside it, its metal frame supporting several clear bags of fluid that descended through transparent tubes connected to the man’s arm. Darius lay motionless in the center of the bed, almost completely surrounded by medical equipment. A thin hospital blanket covered him from the waist down, leaving his chest and arms visible beneath the loose hospital gown. Electrodes had been attached to his chest and connected by thin wires to the cardiac monitor, where green lines rose and fell across the screen in time with his heartbeat. An IV cannula had been secured to the back of his hand with medical tape, the clear tubing running from his arm to the fluid bags hanging above him. Another line disappeared beneath the blanket, while a blood-pressure cuff rested loosely around his upper arm, periodically tightening with a quiet mechanical whir before slowly releasing again.

A clear oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, held in place by elastic straps around the back of his head. Each breath caused a faint fogging against the inside of the mask before the moisture disappeared again. A thin tube ran from the mask toward the oxygen supply beside the bed, delivering the steady flow of air he needed.

Every few seconds, the machinery responded with some small mechanical sound, a soft click, a quiet hiss, or the gentle pulse of a pump pushing medication and fluids through the lines attached to him. Darius himself looked nothing like the cheerful man some people were accustomed to seeing. His face had lost nearly all of its usual color, his skin so pale that the faint bluish shadows beneath his eyes were impossible to miss. His lips looked dry and slightly colorless beneath the oxygen mask, while his dark hair, usually styled with meticulous care, lay disheveled against the pillow. There was no tension in his features, no amusement in his brow, no trace of the laid-back presence that usually followed him wherever he went.

His eyes remained firmly closed, his lashes resting against his cheeks as he lay completely still, unaware of everything happening around him. He had grown noticeably thinner.

It had only been a month, yet the difference was startling. The sharpness of his cheekbones had become more pronounced, and his face looked narrower than it had before the accident. His arms seemed thinner beneath the hospital gown, and his body appeared almost swallowed by the mattress beneath him. He looked less like the man he was a month ago and more like someone who had been sick for far longer than he actually had. There was something almost fragile about him now, something that made it difficult to reconcile the motionless man beneath the sheets with the annoying, reckless man who had been driving Basil crazy just a month ago.

Basil was no different. Slumped in a hard vinyl armchair pressed against the side of the mattress from exhaustion, one arm was folded beneath his head at the edge of the bed while his other hand remained wrapped tightly around Darius’s hand. He looked nearly as sick as the man in the bed. Over the course of the past month, the relentless stress had stripped the weight right off him. His jawline was sharp and gaunt, dark purple shadows bruised the skin beneath his closed eyes, and his clothing hung loosely over a frame that had grown alarmingly thin. He looked frail, exhausted, and far more like a patient who needed to be admitted than someone sitting vigil. His fingers were tightly intertwined with Darius’s cold fingers, holding on as though letting go, even for a moment, might somehow make the fragile connection between them disappear.

One look at Basil, and it was obvious he had barely been sleeping. His breathing was slow and uneven, and his face was drawn with exhaustion after what had undoubtedly been another long stretch of refusing to leave Darius’s side. ℯℯ𝑙.

The sound of the restroom door opening made Basil stir faintly, though he didn’t wake. Queen Jane stepped back into the private ICU room, quietly closing the door behind her before looking toward the bed. For a moment, she simply stood there, taking in the sight of her son slumped in the chair beside Darius. She had only been gone for a few minutes, yet Basil looked as though he had somehow grown even more exhausted in her absence. She walked over to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a soft shake. "Basil. Basil, wake up."

Basil groaned quietly, his brow furrowing as he slowly stirred. His head shifted against his arm, and after a few seconds, his heavy eyelids finally opened. He blinked several times, clearly struggling to pull himself out of sleep, before his gaze settled on his mother standing beside him. "Mother?" he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with exhaustion.

Looking down at him, Jane felt something tighten painfully in her chest. Basil was becoming a shadow of his former self. She had watched him deteriorate right before her eyes, day after day, as he spent nearly every waking hour at Darius’s bedside. He barely slept, barely ate, and whenever someone managed to convince him to leave the room, he returned within minutes as though being away from Darius was unbearable. The meals brought for him were often left untouched, the clothes he wore had begun hanging loosely from his shrinking frame, and even his eyes had lost their usual brightness. The past month had taken something from him, and no matter how much she tried to reason with him, Basil seemed determined to give whatever remained of himself to the man lying unconscious in that bed.

"Yes?" Basil asked, rubbing his tired eyes as he tried to wake himself properly before looking at her again. Then his eyes flicked toward the clock before returning to her face. "Are you about to head back to the palace?"

"Yes, but..." Jane paused, eyeing his drawn face. "I’ve been thinking that perhaps you should go back to the palace today too. I’ll stay here overnight. You need to rest properly, Basil. You really do."

"No," Basil said immediately, shaking his head. "No, it’s fine. I’ll stay." He glanced toward Darius, his expression softening as his fingers tightened around the hand he was still holding. "You should go back, Mother. Father needs you right now, especially with everything going on."

Jane sighed, looking at him with deep concern. "Have you even seen yourself lately? You look so sick, Basil. You look like you need to be admitted right beside your brother." She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers lingering against the gauntness of his face. "I’m scared. Do you understand that? I’m scared something is going to happen to you too if you keep neglecting yourself like this. You’ve barely been eating, you’re hardly sleeping, and you look like you’re going to collapse at any moment."

"I’m okay, Mother. I’m fine," Basil insisted, offering her a faint, reassuring smile. "I’ll make sure to get some proper sleep tonight. I’ll use the spare room they set up for us in the suite."

Jane looked at him sternly, though her eyes were filled with motherly affection. "Then promise me, Basil. Promise me you will actually sleep and that you will eat your food. All the food we’ve been bringing you, you’ve barely touched it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself." She glanced toward Darius, her expression becoming even more solemn. "Darius needs to see you strong when he wakes up. He wouldn’t want to wake up and find that you’ve destroyed yourself while waiting for him."

Basil lowered his gaze, his fingers gently squeezing Darius’s cold hand.

"Our Darius is still out here fighting for his life, so you cannot give up either." The queen’s voice softened as she continued, "you have to take care of yourself so you’ll be strong enough to be there when he wakes up."

For several seconds, Basil said nothing. His throat moved as he swallowed, and his eyes remained fixed on Darius’s pale face.

Finally, he gave a small nod. "It’s okay, Mother. I promise." His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to continue. "I promise I’ll just stay a little longer, then I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight. I’ll eat something too. I promise."