Mate 20 - Suspicion

Sage

When I woke, he was gone.

No lingering warmth beside me, no trace of him in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. Only the scent of liquor clung faintly to the sheets, and the dull ache in my body served as the only evidence of what had transpired.

I lay still, staring at the canopy overhead, my mind blank yet heavy, as though I were caught in some inescapable fog.

It was done.

I had done what was expected of me. Given what was required.

My father’s words echoed in my mind.

"You must secure the alliance."

"Do not fail."

"Ensure an heir. Then he can’t reject you anymore."

I had obeyed. I had done everything right. And yet… why did it feel like something inside me had been hollowed out?

I turned onto my side, fingers brushing against the sheets where Damien had once lain. The space was cold.

How long had he been gone? Had he even glanced back at me before leaving?

A soft knock at the door startled me.

I closed my eyes briefly before forcing myself upright, pulling the sheets around me to conceal my bare skin. My voice, when I spoke, was quieter than I intended.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and Lea stepped in, carrying a tray of food and a fresh set of clothes draped over her arm. Her gaze remained low, her movements careful as she placed the tray on the bedside table.

I frowned. Lea was never this quiet.

"Did someone send you?" I asked, studying her face.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "His Highness instructed me to bring you breakfast and fresh garments."

I stiffened.

Damien had arranged this?

A strange sensation flickered inside me—something almost like hope—before it was quickly smothered by the weight of reality.

He had not stayed.

He had not woken me.

He had simply left orders.

Lea's hands tightened around the fabric in her grasp, as if debating whether to say more.

"And…?" I prompted.

She exhaled softly. "He also said that no one is to speak of this. To avoid rumors."

The words settled heavily between us.

To avoid rumors.

Not to protect me. Not to ease my position.

Just to ensure that no gossip would arise from the crown prince’s bed.

I forced my expression into something unreadable, even as something inside me twisted. "Understood."

Lea shifted uncomfortably. "My lady—"

"That will be all," I cut in, my voice cool.

She hesitated, then bowed her head and placed the clothes on the edge of the bed before quietly leaving the room.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers to my temples.

It was foolish to expect anything more.

Foolish to expect tenderness. Acknowledgment.

This was how it was meant to be.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Damien never came to me again.

Not once.

At first, I told myself it was because he was busy. The Emperor’s condition had worsened, and the war against the monsters at the border demanded his attention. He had responsibilities far greater than me.

And yet, for a man who once claimed me as his destined mate… he treated me as if I were nothing.

I saw him in the palace halls, standing before the council, his voice steady as he gave orders. I watched him from the shadows, taking in his presence, waiting—hoping—for some kind of acknowledgment.

But he never looked for me.

Not in private. Not in public.

And the first time our eyes did meet—briefly, fleetingly, across the grand council room—his gaze held nothing. No warmth, no resentment, not even hesitation.

He simply looked away.

As if that night had never happened.

As if I did not exist.

I should have been relieved.

Should have been grateful that I had done my duty and that was the end of it.

But as I stood there, unseen and unacknowledged, a strange emptiness curled around me, colder than anything I had ever known.

Because for all that I had given to Damien…

He had given me nothing in return.

Not affection. Not reassurance.

Not even rejection.

Just silence.

And perhaps that was the cruelest part of all.

The Emperor’s chamber was eerily silent. The flickering candlelight cast restless shadows along the silk-draped walls, and the scent of medicine and incense clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Despite the steady rise and fall of the Emperor’s chest, the room felt… empty. As if he had already left, only his body lingering behind.

The Empress had been inconsolable since the news broke. She had tried to stay by her husband’s side, but grief had made her weak, her sobs tearing through the halls before the physicians finally convinced her to rest. And so, the burden of care fell on us—on me.

The royal physician, an elderly man with tired eyes, carefully poured a thick, dark liquid into a porcelain cup. The bitter scent stung my nose, sharp with unfamiliar herbs.

"His Majesty’s medicine must be administered twice a day," the doctor explained, his voice firm despite the exhaustion in his gaze. "Once in the morning and once at night. I will entrust you, Lady Sage, to ensure he drinks the morning dose." He turned to me, handing me the cup with great care. "We cannot risk mistakes."

I nodded, accepting the cup with steady hands. "I understand."

I was about to move toward the Emperor’s bedside when a voice, smooth as silk, cut through the air.

"Then allow me to take the evening dose," Rosana suggested, stepping forward with a graceful smile.

I stiffened.

She had been standing near the doorway, watching, waiting. Her eyes held warmth—an almost sisterly concern—but I knew better.

The room fell into a hush.

Rosana moved with practiced ease, her flowing gown pristine, every detail of her appearance carefully arranged.  She turned her attention to the doctor, tilting her head ever so slightly. "It would only be right for me to assist in His Majesty’s care," she said. "I am close to the Angentha ever since I was a child."

Family.

The word felt wrong on her lips.

I didn’t move, didn’t react, but inside, unease crawled up my spine.

The doctor hesitated. His gaze flickered to me for only a second before returning to Rosana, his expression conflicted. "The Empress specifically entrusted me and Lady Sage—"

"The Empress is unwell," Rosana countered gently, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "She has so much on her mind. If she were thinking clearly, she would have asked for my assistance as well." She smiled, warm and reassuring. "This is like my second home, Doctor. I would never do anything to harm what’s important to me."

A clever choice of words.

The doctor exhaled, defeated. "Very well."

I forced myself to stay composed, but my fingers curled tightly around the cup.

Of course, she would insist on being involved.

This wasn’t about duty. It was about control.

The Emperor remained motionless, his face pale but peaceful. He was breathing—slow and steady—but there were no signs of illness. No fever. No wounds. No labored breaths.

Just an unnatural slumber.

I hesitated before kneeling beside the bed, carefully slipping my arm beneath his head to support him as I brought the cup to his lips.

"This will help," I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if the words were for him… or myself.

The liquid slipped past his lips, disappearing down his throat.

I watched. Waited.

Nothing.

He didn’t stir.

The tension in my chest tightened.

Behind me, Rosana watched quietly.

"You seem nervous, Lady Sage," she mused, stepping closer. "Are you afraid something will go wrong?"

I swallowed, lowering the cup. "I am only being careful."

"How dutiful of you," she said, tilting her head slightly. "It must be difficult—taking on such an important role. But you needn’t bear this alone."

"Is that why you insisted on helping?" I asked evenly, meeting her gaze.

She smiled, feigning innocence. "Is it so wrong to care for the man who raised Damien and welcomed me into his family?"

I didn’t respond.

Because I didn’t trust her.

Something was wrong with the Emperor. I could feel it. And Rosana’s presence here, her eagerness to be part of this, only deepened my suspicions.

I set the empty cup aside and stood. "I’ll check on him again in a few hours."

"And I will do the same tonight," Rosana replied smoothly.

Her words carried a quiet finality.

This wasn’t a request. This was a move.

And I had no choice but to play along.

The library was silent, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight and the rustle of parchment beneath my fingers. I had been searching for over an hour, scanning through books on rare illnesses, poisons—anything that might explain the Emperor’s condition.

But I found nothing.

No symptoms. No logical cause.

Only a deep, unyielding sleep.

A chill ran down my spine.

I turned another page, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. I needed to know what was happening. Before it was too late.

A shadow fell over the desk.

I looked up—only to meet Damien’s gaze.

I hadn’t heard him enter.

He stood beside the table, his face unreadable. His presence, always commanding, was weighed with something heavier tonight.

"We’ll be dining at the Duke’s estate tonight," he said.

I blinked. "You could have sent a maid to inform me."

He shrugged. "I happened to be passing by."

"Understood," I said finally, setting the book aside. "I will be ready soon."

Damien didn’t move.

For a brief moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something more.

But he didn’t.

He turned and left.

And I was left in the quiet, feeling the weight of too many unanswered questions pressing down on me.