Hours passed, and the harsh light of afternoon slowly dissolved into the cool shadows of evening.
Breena’s brows drew together as a dull, throbbing ache spread across her ribs, dragging her reluctantly back toward consciousness.
She tried to inhale, but a sharp spike of pain immediately seized her side, forcing an uneven breath from her lips.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened.
For several seconds, she stared blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling, her mind foggy as she struggled to pinpoint where she was.
The sharp, clean scent of antiseptic filled the air.
Her body felt impossibly heavy, as though lead had been poured straight into her veins.
Then the memories came rushing back in a chaotic blur—the roar of the waterfall, the terrified screams of the young girl, the crack of the rifle, and the sudden, burning heat against her ribs.
Breena winced, bracing her elbow against the mattress to push herself up.
The moment she shifted, a fierce, tearing pain shot through her torso.
She gasped, collapsing heavily back onto the pillows.
“Don’t move,” a deep, smooth voice commanded from the doorway.
Dronti stood leaning lazily against the doorframe, his pale grey eyes fixed on her.
He pushed off the wood and walked over, sliding into the armchair beside her bed.
He crossed one leg over the other, inspecting her pale face with cool deliberation.
“So,” he began, his voice dripping with dry mockery, “it seems there are people out there who desperately want you dead.
And because of how recklessly stubborn you are, you almost let them succeed.” Breena swallowed past her dry throat, glaring up at him.
“Well…
it isn’t exactly news to me that someone wants me dead.
Don’t worry, your Majesty.
Fate is still on my side.” Dronti’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing into cold shards.
“Unfortunately, it is my concern now that you’re my physician.
Nothing is permitted to happen to you until you cure me and help me secure an heir.
From this moment on, you will strictly follow my security protocols.” Breena let out a breathy, ironic laugh, a bitter curve touching her lips.
“Wow.
I guess I should feel honored to be so important to you, Your Majesty.” She leaned back, her tone sharp.
“And what happens if I can’t fix your little problem?
What if you never get your heir?
I bet you’d dump me without giving it a second thought.” “If you no longer serve a purpose, then yes, I will discard you,” Dronti replied effortlessly, his voice devoid of a single drop of warmth.
“Why should I care about someone who is useless to me?” A flash of anger surged in Breena’s chest.
She struggled to keep her composure, but the coldness of his words grated on every nerve.
“Of course that’s who you are,” she snapped, her voice rising in pitch.
“You’re completely heartless.
You don’t care about anyone but yourself!
You…
you’re just—” “What?” Dronti cut in smoothly, leaning forward slightly.
“Do you have a personal issue with me?
I don’t owe you my affection or my concern.
Remind yourself of the reality here: this arrangement is strictly business.
You treat me, I keep you alive and throw money at you.
That is the beginning and the end of it.” His calm, factual delivery only stoked the fire burning beneath her ribs.
Breena clenched her fists against the sheets, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“And what if I just refuse to treat you at all?” she challenged, her voice trembling with frustration.
“Are you going to kill me?” “You and I both know you don’t have the luxury of making that choice,” Dronti said softly, his eyes locking onto hers with terrifying certainty.
“So don’t waste your energy entertaining the thought.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a thin, elegant gold chain, and tossed it onto her lap.
“Since you insist on running into trouble, keep that on.
Press the small clasp on the side whenever you’re in danger.” Breena stared down at the piece of jewelry.
His words echoed in her head—You don’t have the luxury of making that choice.
Did he know about the poison slowly eating away at her life?
Did he suspect she was staying to find a way to eliminate him?
Or did he think she was targeting his prized beast?
She snatched the necklace and threw it back at his chest.
“I don’t need your protection.” Dronti caught the chain effortlessly.
Without a word, he stood up, leaned over the bed, and grabbed her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
Ignoring her sharp gasp, he reached around her neck and swept her hair aside, wrapping the cold gold chain around her throat.
“Stop throwing fits,” he murmured near her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
“Keep acting like this, and I might just decide that you should be the one carrying my heir.” The threat sent a sudden jolt through Breena, snapping her mind back to the information she had been trying to extract earlier.
As his fingers clicked the clasp shut behind her neck, she tilted her head back, shooting him a defiant look.
“Didn’t you take Lady Joline into your bed yesterday?
You should be expecting good news from her any day now.
Why keep wasting your time with me?
Besides, for your information, I am completely infertile.
So don’t even dream about it.” Dronti finished securing the chain, smoothed his lapels, and sat back down in the armchair, crossing his legs with fluid grace.
“If I say I am still unable to release, then that is the reality,” he stated plainly, resting his hands on his knee.
“Don’t pay attention to the useless rumors floating around this villa.
It’s not as if you’re treating me out of charity.” He leaned back, resting his chin on his thumb as he looked at her.
“If you want to ensure you don’t end up in my bed carrying my child, I suggest you work harder to fix my condition so another woman can do it.
That way, you won’t have to keep relying on fake excuses about being infertile.” Breena went still as his words sank in.
As repulsive as his tone was, his logic was airtight.
The moment he was fully cured and able to produce an heir with someone else, his stifling grip on her would loosen—giving her the perfect opening to finish her real mission and strike him down.
She swallowed her pride, forcing her voice to soften into a tone of quiet, polite submission.
“That sounds fair enough, your Majesty.” She shifted her head slightly, gesturing toward her leather backpack sitting on the bedside table.
“I harvested a few specific herbs from the forest before…
everything happened.
They’re inside that bag.
Since I can’t prepare them in this state, have one of the kitchen staff grind them up, mix them with warm water, and bring you a cup to drink.” Dronti arched a dark brow, looking between her and the bag.
“And how is drinking them going to help?
I assumed you were going to apply them directly with your hands again.” Breena offered a faint, sarcastic smile.
“It seems you’ve grown quite fond of my touch, your Highness.
Unfortunately for you, not every remedy is applied topically.
You’ll have to swallow this one.” Dronti let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
“Fair enough.
But I prefer your usual hands-on method.
Hurry up and heal so we can go back to that.” He reached over, picked up the backpack, and unzipped the main compartment.
He reached inside, pulling out small, carefully tied bundles of fresh leaves and roots, placing them one by one on the table beside the bed.
He picked up a slender stem with serrated, dark-green leaves, turning it over in his fingers with a look of quiet curiosity.
“Isn’t this a contact irritant?
Why would you bring this back?” Breena’s breath caught in her throat.
She stared at the plant in his hand, panic flaring briefly behind her eyes.
She had specifically gathered that wild nettle variant planning to slip it into his bathwater so he would spend the entire night breaking out in unbearable itching.
She had completely forgotten that as an owner of a major medical group, he wasn’t entirely clueless about botany.
“You seem to forget that I own a medical empire, little physician,” Dronti said softly, his eyes locking onto hers with sharp amusement.
“I know an inflammatory botanical when I see one.
Tell me…
was this meant for me?” Breena forced her expression to remain entirely blank, keeping her voice steady.
“No.
I gathered it by mistake.
It was dark under the forest canopy.” She cursed silently under her breath.
Poisoning a man like this was going to be far more complicated than she had anticipated; he clearly possessed more than just basic medical knowledge.
“It had better be a mistake,” Dronti murmured, setting the herb aside.
He reached back into the main compartment, clearing out the rest of the loose roots.
He paused, his hand hovering inside the bag.
His brows pulled together as he lifted the leather pack slightly, testing its weight.
“There’s still something heavy in here.” Breena’s heart slammed against her ribs.
The hidden dagger.
She had slipped her personal defense blade—a sharp, deadly weapon she always kept close—into the inner lining of that bag.
If he pulled a concealed blade out of her personal belongings right now, he would immediately assume she was plotting an assassination.
Her cover would be blown before she even had a chance to recover.
“There’s nothing else in there, your Majesty!” Breena said quickly, her voice strained as she tried to reach for the bag.
“It’s just the heavy leather lining—it always feels like that.” Dronti didn’t listen.
A faint smirk touched his lips as his hand slid directly into the side compartment.
“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around a hard, metallic handle.