Victoria lay quietly on the high-backed carved bed, her face pale to the point of transparency, her eyelashes casting a thin shadow under her eyelids, and her forehead covered with tiny beads of sweat. Her breathing was steady, but carried the weakness of illness.
"Your Highness, Your Highness... Sir Arthur Hastings has co to see you."
Leisen leaned down and softly called twice in her ear. Victoria moved slightly, her eyelids slowly lifting.
Her hazy gaze was initially sowhat bewildered, but then fell on Arthur’s figure. As if recognizing sothing, after a mont of daze, a hint of surprise and comfort flashed across her expression.
Arthur slowly leaned down before the bed, his shadow shrouded in candlelight, covering Victoria’s face.
Arthur did not rush to speak. Instead, he extended a hand, gently holding Victoria’s cool, slender fingers.
Her hand barely had the strength to respond, but a faint pulse still transmitted through her fingertips, subtle yet resilient.
Victoria tried to prop herself up, her fingers slightly gripping the bedding, but due to weakness, her shoulder lightly fell back after barely leaving the pillow.
Her breathing beca slightly hurried as a glimr of annoyance and unwillingness passed through her eyes.
Arthur helped adjust her pillow’s position: "Your Highness, do not push yourself. What you need now is rest."
Holding her hand, he slightly leaned forward, trying to make his voice closer, more comforting: "I promise you, no matter how many conspiracies and sches are outside, no matter the storms outside, tonight, and every night hereafter until you recover, I will stand at your door."
Leisen discreetly wiped her tears with her sleeve, not daring to interrupt, she gently retreated half a step, giving space to Doctor John Snow who mingled among Plunkett and others.
Snow first exchanged a few quiet words with Lady Leisen, reconfirming Victoria’s condition over the past days, then took out several glass bottles and a dicine spoon from his dical kit, carefully grinding a few herbs into powder, dripped in a prepared potion, gradually stirring it into a warm mixture.
Seeing this, Arthur slightly turned back, refocusing his attention on Victoria.
He still held her hand, as if trying to transfer his strength to her, the warmth from his palm slowly seeping into those cold fingertips.
"Your Highness." His voice was pressed low, not wanting to disturb Snow’s preparation, yet hoping she would clearly hear: "For now, you needn’t concern yourself with those annoying sounds and troubleso faces outside. Your task is to preserve your spirit and strength. Perhaps you don’t know, I have awaited dawn in the coldest coffin, watched the sky clear amid the thickest gun smoke and night. That mont of light is more precious than any affair."
Victoria’s lips trembled, as if wanting to say sothing: "Pre...ceptor..."
Arthur smiled gently, continuing her words first: "Everything will get better, I swear on my honor, that your illness will fade, your dilemmas will unravel, those who seek to exploit your will, will be purged completely. And when that mont cos, you shall rise in your own way, face the entire Kingdom with dignity, receive the cheers of 23 million Britons. Your Highness, you will have that mont, I promise, you will have that mont."
Victoria’s lips moved slightly, appearing to want to speak, but due to the dryness and weakness of her throat, could only emit a very faint breath.
But her gaze had evidently softened, as though the fear and unease were slowly being dispelled by Arthur’s grasp.
"I... believe you."
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