Chapter 171: the emperor falls ill

Chapter 171: Chapter 171: the emperor falls ill

The Emperor returned to the papers before him.

"That’s all."

Adrian inclined his head.

"Then I’ll leave you to work."

He turned toward the door.

He had taken only a few steps when he heard his father inhale sharply.

Adrian stopped.

He turned.

The Emperor had one hand pressed against the edge of the desk.

"Father?"

The Emperor looked up.

"I’m fine."

Adrian didn’t move.

"You don’t look fine."

"It’s nothing."

The Emperor straightened.

But then his face tightened.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Adrian crossed the room immediately.

"What is it?"

"I said I’m fine."

His father’s voice was weaker this time.

Adrian reached for the bell.

"Call the physicians."

The Emperor caught his wrist.

"Don’t—"

He never finished.

His fingers suddenly went slack.

Adrian felt the change before he understood it.

His father’s entire weight shifted forward.

"Father?"

The Emperor’s knees gave way.

Adrian caught him.

For one terrifying second, the Emperor seemed almost weightless in his arms, his body no longer responding to him properly. His head fell against Adrian’s shoulder, one arm hanging uselessly at his side.

"Father!"

Adrian tightened his grip, lowering him carefully toward the floor.

"Look at me."

The Emperor’s eyes were open.

But something was terribly wrong.

His mouth moved.

No words came.

Only a broken, unintelligible sound.

Adrian’s heart lurched.

"Father?"

The Emperor tried again.

His lips moved, but the right side of his face remained strangely still.

Adrian stared.

Then understanding struck him.

"Someone!"

His voice thundered through the room.

"Call the physicians!"

The servants outside froze.

"Now!"

One of them immediately ran.

Adrian lowered his father onto the carpet, supporting his head with one hand.

"Stay with me."

The Emperor’s eyes shifted toward him.

He seemed to recognize him.

For a moment, his fingers moved weakly against Adrian’s sleeve.

Then even that stopped.

Adrian’s breath caught.

"Father."

Nothing.

"Father, can you hear me?"

His father’s eyes remained open.

But his body was frighteningly limp.

Adrian looked toward the door.

"Where are the physicians?"

"They’re coming, Your Highness!"

"Faster!"

Footsteps rushed through the corridor.

Adrian barely heard them.

He remained beside his father, one hand beneath his head, the other gripping his shoulder.

Only minutes ago, they had been discussing trade.

His father had been standing.

Speaking to him as he always had.

Now he could barely move.

The first physician burst into the room.

"Your Majesty!"

He immediately dropped beside the Emperor.

"What happened?"

"He was standing."

Adrian’s voice was tight.

"He seemed to be feeling unwell. Then he collapsed."

The physician examined him quickly.

"Your Highness, move back."

Adrian did.

The physicians began working around the Emperor.

One checked his pulse.

Another examined his pupils.

The senior physician looked at the slackness on one side of the Emperor’s face, then at his inability to speak.

His expression changed.

"Get the medical attendants. Immediately."

Adrian stared at him.

"What is it?"

The physician looked up.

"We believe His Majesty has suffered a stroke."

For a moment, Adrian simply stood there.

"A stroke?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Will he recover?"

The physician hesitated.

"We don’t know yet."

Adrian looked down at his father.

The Emperor had always seemed immovable.

The throne had seemed immovable.

His father had seemed like the one constant thing in an Empire where everything else could change.

And now he was lying helplessly on the floor.

Adrian’s face hardened.

"Then keep him alive."

The physician bowed his head.

"We will do everything we can."

Adrian turned toward the door.

His voice became cold and absolute.

"Close the palace."

The household officials stared at him.

"No one enters. No one leaves."

A pause.

"Until we know exactly what happened to His Majesty."

He looked back at his father.

"And I want every physician in the capital brought here."

No one questioned him.

Within minutes, the palace began to move.

And outside those walls, the capital had no idea that the Emperor had just collapsed.

--

By the second morning, the capital had changed.

The news had spread quickly, even though the palace had released very little information.

The Emperor was ill.

That was all the public knew for certain.

The palace had been sealed.

The city gates were under strict guard.

No one was permitted to enter or leave without authorization, and even essential supplies were being inspected before being allowed through.

The usual movement of the capital had almost disappeared.

For Marian, the silence was unsettling.

She stood beside the window of the morning room, looking down at the unusually quiet street.

Her wedding was barely more than a week away.

Everything had been prepared.

The invitations had gone out.

Her dress was finished.

The flowers had been selected.

The reception arrangements had been settled.

The cathedral was ready.

And yet none of it felt certain anymore.

The door opened.

Her father entered.

Marian turned immediately.

"Father?"

Duke Valmont closed the door behind him.

He had spent most of the morning trying to determine what was actually happening inside the palace.

The official notices had been deliberately vague.

That alone concerned him.

He had spoken with two officials he trusted, sent inquiries through his own household, and received conflicting fragments of information.

The Emperor had suffered some kind of sudden medical event.

The physicians were still investigating.

The palace was treating the matter as a potential security threat.

Beyond that, very little was known.

Duke Valmont crossed the room and took the chair opposite his daughter.

"The palace has issued another notice."

Marian’s expression tightened.

"About the Emperor?"

He nodded.

"His condition remains serious."

She was silent for a moment.

"What do you know?"

"Not enough."

That answer immediately told her how serious the situation was.

Her father was not a man who easily admitted ignorance.

"The physicians haven’t given a clear diagnosis," he continued. "At least not one they’re prepared to make public."

"Is he expected to recover?"

"We don’t know."

Marian lowered her gaze.

"Has anyone been allowed into the palace?"

"Only those with authorization."

"And the capital?"

"Still sealed."

She nodded slowly.

Of course.

If the Emperor’s illness was sudden and its cause uncertain, the authorities could not risk allowing people to move freely in and out of the capital.

There was too much at stake.

"Do you think they suspect poisoning?"

Her father was quiet for a moment.

"They are considering every possibility."

Marian understood.

Until the physicians knew what had happened, no one could assume it was merely an illness.

"Have you heard anything from Cassian?"

Her father shook his head.

"No."

Marian’s fingers tightened slightly.

The last letter she had received from Cassian had been written when he first arrived in Ashford.

Two weeks ago.

He had told her that he had arrived safely.

That he had begun dealing with the situation there.

That he intended to return as soon as he could.

She had been expecting another letter.

But the distance between Ashford and the capital was considerable.

And now, with the capital sealed, correspondence would be even more difficult.

"He could already be on his way," she murmured.

"He could."

"Or still in Ashford."

"Yes."

Neither of them knew.

And that uncertainty was beginning to weigh on her.

Her father studied her for a moment.

Then his expression became more serious.

"Marian."

She looked at him.

"The wedding is eight days away."

Her heart sank.

"I know."

"If His Majesty’s condition does not improve, we may have to postpone it."

Marian stared at him.

"But everything is ready."

"I know."

"The invitations have already gone out."

"I know."

"The cathedral is reserved."

"I know."

Her voice grew quieter.

"Everything is finished."

Her father reached across the table and took her hand.

"I’m not telling you that it will be canceled."

Marian looked up.

"But you think it might be."

"I think we have to be prepared for the possibility."

She swallowed.

He was right.

If the Emperor remained seriously ill, the capital could not simply proceed with a grand wedding as though nothing had happened.

And if the Emperor died—

there would be mourning.

A succession.

An entirely different political reality.

Her wedding would have to wait.

Marian looked toward the window.

Eight days.

Only eight days.

She had spent months preparing for this.

She had imagined the cathedral.

The music.

The moment she would walk toward Cassian.

She had imagined the reception afterward.

And now she didn’t even know where Cassian was.

Her father squeezed her hand.

"For now, we wait."

Marian nodded.

"Yes."

She looked back toward the quiet streets.

Somewhere beyond the capital, Cassian was making his way home, or perhaps still dealing with matters in Ashford.

She had no way of knowing.

And for the first time since they had begun planning their wedding, Marian understood that there were things even careful preparation could not control.

--

Tbc