Chapter 163

Lila

The first thing I noticed when I woke was the weight in my limbs. Not the pleasant heaviness of sleep, but on that dragged my bones down, making each breath feel like work.

My body no longer felt like mine, just a fragile, trembling shell that didn’t want to move.

The ceiling above me blurred at the edges, the carved moldings swimming in and out of focus. My skin was damp, and my nightgown clung uncomfortably to my ribs.

The air in the chamber felt thick, too warm, pressing against me like a second blanket I couldn’t throw off.

When I tried to sit, the room tilted sharply, and I had to grab the edge of the mattress to keep from sliding back. My hands looked paler, veins faintly visible beneath skin that had lost all of its warmth.

A knock at the door. Then, the sound of it opening without waiting for my answer.

Ronan stepped inside, not in his usual uniform but in plain dark clothes, his presence filling the space as much as his frame. He didn’t say anything at first. Just took one look at me and shut the door quietly behind him.

“You’re worse,” he said finally, his voice low but edged with something sharper than concern.

I wanted to argue, but my throat felt dry, the words catching before they formed. Instead, I tried to smile, though it felt like my lips barely moved. “It’s just a bad moment, it’ll pass.”

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling a small flask from his jacket. “Drink,” he said, unscrewing the cap and offering it to me. The scent of cool, clean water hit my nose, and suddenly I realized how parched I was.

The first sip was heaven. cool relief sliding down my throat. but it made me cough, the effort rattling my ribs.

Ronan steadied me with one hand against my back, the warmth of his palm cutting through the chill in my skin.

“You’re not eating,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“I tried.” The truth was I couldn’t keep more than a few bites down. The poison had leeched away my appetite as much as my strength.

Ronan studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly, jaw working like he was holding back words. “If you stay here much longer…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

I dropped my gaze to the blanket pooled around my lap. “I know.”

For a long moment, there was only the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel and the slow burn of his stare. Then he knelt in front of me, so we were eye level.

“I figured out your…,” he said quietly. “… exit.”

My breath caught with a faint glimmer of hope the words sparked. “You did?”

“Yes.” His tone was measured, careful, like he was weighing how much to tell me. “I need you to be ready. Pack and wait for me.”

I didn’t ask for details on how he would fake my death. I didn’t need them. I just looked at him and said, “I trust you.”

Something in his face shifted, the tension there deepening and softening at once. He reached out, brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, and I didn’t pull away.

His touch was gentle, but there was steel behind it, as if he were making a silent vow.

“Then hold on a little longer,” he murmured.

I nodded, though my body felt heavier than ever. My heart was racing from the effort of sitting upright, from the certainty of what was about to happen.

When he rose, his gaze flicked to the door, then back to me. “Rest for one hour,” he said. But there was no softness in it. It sounded more like an order he meant to enforce.

I waited until I knew Ronan was gone before asking the guards to send for Emma.

They didn’t question me. They rarely did anymore, so long as I wasn’t trying to leave the Royal Wing.

Still, I saw the glance they exchanged before one of them went, the silent conversation that always seemed to pass between people when they were talking about me without words.

Emma slipped in a few minutes later, quiet as a mouse. She’d tied her hair back in a loose braid, and her dress was plain, the kind she wore when she didn’t want to draw attention.

Her eyes swept over me in an instant, her mouth pressing into a line before she spoke.

“You look worse,” she said softly, shutting the door behind her.

“I feel worse,” I admitted, though I tried to give it the kind of half-smile that might soften the truth. It didn’t work. She moved toward me in three quick steps, dropping into the chair beside my bed.

Her hand found mine, warm and steady against my cold fingers. “Is it terrible?”

I nodded once. “It’s getting worse. And…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, “I don’t think I have much time left.”

Emma’s grip tightened, and I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

I couldn’t tell her everything, not about Ronan, not about what we were planning. If she knew, she’d be in danger. And if she tried to stop me… I didn’t think I’d have the strength to fight her.

So, I took the coward’s path, the one that hurt less for both of us. “I just… I need you to promise me something.”

Her brows drew together. “Lila—”

“—Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” I said quickly, cutting her off before my voice broke. “Promise me you won’t get tangled in all of this if I… when I’m gone.”

Her head shook sharply, as if rejecting the idea outright. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll be here. You’ll get through this. Damon—”

I flinched at his name. “Don’t,” I whispered. It came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t hear his name without feeling that hollow ache in my chest.

Emma’s expression softened, but she didn’t push. “Then tell me what’s going on. You’ve been fading in front of me, and you think I’m just going to sit here and...”

“I can’t,” I said. The words scraped my throat raw. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because if you knew, they might use you to stop me.”

Her breath caught, and I saw the fight drain from her posture, replaced by something heavier: understanding and fear. “You’re leaving,” she said quietly.

“I’m dying.”

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then Emma leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me, holding me in a way that felt both fierce and fragile.

I clung back, my face pressed to her shoulder, inhaling her familiar scent.

“Be careful,” she murmured against my hair. “Please.”

I swallowed hard, my throat burning. “I’ll try.”

When she pulled back, her eyes shone with unshed tears. “If you… are gone, you’d better make it worth it. Don’t you dare let them drag you back here.”

A shaky laugh escaped me, though it tasted more like grief than humor. “That’s the plan.”

We talked about safer things after that like mundane scraps of gossip from the servants’ hall, the weather turning colder, the way the kitchen staff had started baking for the winter feast.

But the words felt hollow, like we were both pretending this was just another visit.

When she finally stood to leave thirty minutes later, I memorized the way she looked at me, how she was trying to burn my face into her memory.

The door shut softly behind her, and I sat there in the quiet, my hands still tingling from where she’d held them.

I hadn’t told her goodbye, not out loud. But I knew she’d heard it anyway.

Somewhere in the distance, faint and muffled by the palace walls, I thought I heard raised voices. A ripple of unrest, the kind that travels fast in a place like this. Whispers of Rogues were stirring in the air.

If Ronan’s plan worked, I wouldn’t be here to see how it ended.

But if it failed… I’d be trapped in the middle of it, with no one left to trust.

I closed my eyes and clung to the one truth I had left. My life, whatever pieces of it remained, would have to be my own.

I finished packing a few clothes and my journals and did as Ronan asked me to.

I laid down to rest and wait.