Prince Phoebus sat up from his bed, panting. His body was covered in sweat and his breathing rapid and shallow. In other words, it was just another usual day for him.
Sighing softly, he slowly turned and sat upright. His joints creaked in defiance as pain shot up all over his body. After several minutes of effort, he finally managed to stand up, but not without holding onto a table for support. Even then, his palms trembled as he tried to lean the majority of his weight onto the table.
He looked to the floor in exhaustion. A pool of sweat has already formed on the ground, another grim reminder of the illness that plagued his body. Just waking up in the morning was becoming more and more of a challenge, how was he going to survive through the rest of the day?
Footsteps could be heard leading to outside his room, then three sharp rasps echoed through his door.
“Come in.” The young prince croaked softly, his throat still parched from the night.
“Yes, milord.” A stern voice replied. It belonged to Sir Atticus, one of his most loyal vassals. Atticus had served in the house of Archibald of the past two decades and met with Prince Phoebus since he was young. He was Phoebus’ mentor and teacher for the most part of his life, and now serves as one of Prince Phoebus’ personal guards.
“A-Atticus…” Prince Phoebus struggled to say. His throat trembled with weakness and his voice was as soft as a whisper.
“My prince, you’re looking well today.” Atticus said with his head bowed.
A blatant lie, Phoebus knew, but Atticus said that to him every day. Despite knowing that, it still soothed Phoebus just a little.
“I’ve come for my daily report.”
Phoebus merely nodded his head and gestured for Atticus to carry on. Every since his condition had taken a turn for the worse, Atticus has been serving as his eyes and ears of Archibald Keep, notifying him of any notable events that he missed.
“The guards are growing suspicious of your illness. There have been rumors passed among the people, saying that you were already dead and that the rule of the Archibald would come to an end. I have tried to crush these mindless tales, but this task proved much more arduous then I previously thought.”
“I-I… see…” The prince acknowledged. A wave of guilt swept across his heart. Ever since the illness worsened, the prince had been unable to get out of his room and talk to his people in person. It was inevitable that something like this would happen, seeing as though he had neglected them for so long.
“However, there is a piece of good news I have brought with me today.”
Phoebus’ heart warmed with a hint of hope. He coughed lightly, and then asked, “What is it?”
“The physician from Elymas has arrived. He thinks he might know how to lessen your suffering.”
Phoebus immediately frowned, a strenuous job considering his status. “I thought I already told you…” The prince said in a steady voice. “I don’t need anymore treatment!”
“But sire-”
“No buts!” The prince shouted as he stood up to his full height. “This curse of mine has wasted enough of the kingdom’s resources! I have seen physicians after physicians, each one of them claiming to be the best and bringing me false promises. I swear on my father’s grave if he steps one foot into my castle, I will… I will…”
Prince Phoebus’ weakness kicked in again, causing his knees to buckle and he fell forward to the ground.
“Milord!” Atticus exclaimed and quickly stepped forward to grab and support his master. “Are you alright?”
