The Princess' Harem
Chapter 83: Waiting in the Silence

Chapter 83: Waiting in the Silence

Few days passed. Each morning, the first thought that struck Viana was the absence of a report. The news about the people who had poured the substance, or even definitive information about the substance itself beyond Eryndor’s assessment, remained unconfirmed.

The days began to blur into a single, anxious wait. The urgency that had fueled her actions just a few mornings ago began to curdle into a stagnant dread.

Viana waited wearily in her room. Her study, once a sanctuary of discovery and preparation, became a cage. She moved less, spoke less.

The maps remained spread on the table, their lines no longer a source of strategic insight, but a grim reminder of the unconfirmed threats. She spent hours staring at them, tracing the marked regions, her mind cycling through possibilities and worst-case scenarios.

Sleep offered little respite, haunted by fragmented memories of a past she was desperate to alter.

Sina’s attempts to draw her out became more frequent, more insistent.

"Princess, the spring festivals are approaching. The tailor has sent new fabrics for your gowns. Perhaps you would like to see them?" Sina would ask, her voice laced with a worried lightness.

"No, Sina. Not now," Viana would reply, her voice flat, often without turning from her desk.

"But the gardens are blooming, Princess. Cooper asked if you would come and see the first roses," Sina tried another afternoon, her desperation showing.

The mention of Cooper brought a faint pang, a brief flicker of guilt. She had avoided him, his innocent questions, his bright presence too painful a contrast to the darkness that consumed her.

His easy laughter, his simple joy, felt like a judgment against her own grim reality. "Tell him I am busy. Very busy."

Her tone was not unkind, but it was distant, a clear signal.

Sina would persist for a few more minutes, offering suggestions for light reading, a stroll through the palace halls, anything to break Viana’s self-imposed isolation. But Viana’s resolve to remain in her chamber, to hoard her solitary burden, was unyielding.

Eventually, Sina would retreat, her face a mask of concern and quiet frustration. She knew the princess was troubled, but the wall Viana had erected was absolute.

Reyes would provide his daily updates on army readiness, his reports precise and clipped. "Princess, the northern garrisons have completed their supply inventory. Training exercises in the eastern plains are proceeding as planned."

His eyes would meet hers, seeking any sign of a shift, any indication of the specific threat for which he was silently preparing. Viana would nod, offer a brief "Continue your good work, Reyes," and then dismiss him.

He understood discretion, but the lack of explanation for the sudden, covert preparations weighed on him. He knew the kingdom was being braced for something significant, but the ’what’ and ’why’ remained hidden behind Viana’s unyielding silence.

The internal monologue raged. What was taking Joel so long? Had they been caught? Had the perpetrators moved on? Or was it simply taking more time than she, in her desperation, had anticipated?

The silence from the field was a heavy cloak, suffocating her with uncertainty. She remembered the rapid escalation of events in her past life.

The blight had become evident quickly once the thaw began. The ground, unable to nurture new growth, had left fields barren and streams stagnant. Arin’s attack had followed swiftly, exploiting the rising despair.

The timeline was closing in. Each day without news meant less time to react, less chance to mitigate the coming disaster.

A week bled into another. The faint scent of pine and cold that Eryndor had brought into her room had long since faded, replaced by the stale air of a chamber kept too long closed.

The spring festivals passed uncelebrated by Viana. Her attendance at meals became erratic, often skipping them entirely, forcing Sina to discreetly bring food to her room.

She picked at it, her appetite diminished by the knot of anxiety that tightened in her stomach. Her face grew paler, the shadows beneath her eyes deepening despite her efforts to conceal them.

Sometimes, she would find herself tracing the lines of her maps not with strategic intent, but with a desperate, almost obsessive need for control. She would remember snippets from her past life – a particularly harsh winter, the sudden, unexplained collapse of a granary, a localized illness that had swept through a farming village.

Details she had once dismissed as unrelated misfortunes now seemed to weave into a chilling tapestry of calculated sabotage. She saw the connections, but the silence from Joel’s mission meant she had no proof, no actionable intelligence to present to her father, the King.

Without concrete evidence, her warnings would be dismissed as youthful over-excitement or paranoia.

And then, a deeper dread would surface. She remembered the sheer, overwhelming financial ruin that had followed the dual disasters in her first life.

The granaries empty, the rivers poisoned, the workforce decimated by illness and conscription. The royal coffers had bled dry, leading to the desperate measures.

A cold shiver ran through her as she recalled the moment she had stood before her father, the King, her face devoid of hope. The decision had been swift and brutal.

She had sacrificed herself into the hands of Count Lazarus, offering her hand, her future, her very person, for his vast financial support. His gold had stemmed the tide of bankruptcy, allowing the kingdom to purchase vital supplies, to pay mercenaries, to survive another season.

But the cost had been absolute, a personal captivity that had left her spirit cold and broken. The memory of Count Lazarus’s calculating gaze, his heavy hand closing around hers, was a physical weight on her chest.

This time, she would not allow Elysia to reach that precipice. She would not become a pawn, a bride sold for solvency.

The sound of horses in the courtyard, the distant clang of smiths at the armory, the murmur of court life outside her door – all felt alien, a facade of normalcy that she alone saw through. She felt an increasing detachment, a sense of living in a different reality from everyone else.

The burden of foresight, the curse of knowledge, was a relentless companion. It gnawed at her, eroded her sleep, and sharpened her temper with those who dared to intrude upon her grim vigil.

Even Arden, usually so immersed in his own studies, noticed her increasing reclusiveness. He would occasionally tap lightly on her study door.

"Princess? Are your studies progressing well? I found a fascinating text on ancient fortifications that might be of interest." His voice was gentle, lacking Sina’s persistent cheer.

"Not today, Arden. My mind is occupied elsewhere," Viana would reply, her voice strained, barely audible through the thick wood.

Arden would sigh, a sound of quiet concern, then retreat. He understood her need for solitude in her intellectual pursuits, but this prolonged withdrawal was unlike her.

He sensed a deeper disturbance, a profound unease that transcended academic rigor. He would sometimes leave small, unassuming volumes of historical accounts or philosophical musings outside her door, silent offerings that went mostly unacknowledged.

The cold air that filtered through the cracks in the old palace stone now carried a hint of damp earth, a subtle precursor to the coming thaw. The thought brought a fresh wave of dread.

The moment the snow truly began to melt, the poison would unleash its full effect. Arin, too, would choose his moment with the changing season.

Viana looked at the map, her vision clear despite her weariness. The kingdom was a ticking clock. The silence, however, persisted, a chilling void.

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