Chapter Text
It wasn't a pleasurable experience to be locked away in your room for most of your life. Some teenagers might dream of such isolation, imagining endless comfort, freedom from duties, and quiet luxury, but for poor Kaelix, it was anything but a dream. It was a gilded cage.
The room itself was beautiful, almost cruelly so. A wide chamber bathed in soft golden light from tall arched windows, each draped with silver, threaded curtains that shimmered whenever the wind dared to slip through the cracks. The bed was enormous, its sheets woven from the softest silk in the kingdom, pillows plump enough to swallow him whole. Every inch of the ceiling was adorned with hand-carved patterns, stars, vines, and swirling clouds, each stroke a silent reminder of his family's wealth.
Yet for all its beauty, the room felt hollow. Empty.
The space was meant for one person alone. One individual. But not just any, prince Kaelix of the Debonair bloodline.
Though, could you even call them a family anymore?
It was just the Prince and the Queen now. The halls that once echoed with laughter and warmth had long gone quiet, filled only by the whispers of servants and the faint toll of the palace clock. His father, the late King, had perished shortly after Kaelix's birth, or so the rumours went. No one spoke o fit openly. Whenever Kaelix asked, the Queen's expression would tighten, her lips pressed into silence, and he would be left alone again with his questions and the cold, painted walls that never answered back.
To the world, Kaelix lived a life of luxury. But to him, it was a beautiful prison, and every passing day, he could feel the weight of its golden bars pressing harder against his soul.
Kaelix was minding his own business that morning, seated by his grand mahogany desk, a brush poised delicately his fingers. The soft scratching of bristles against parchment was the only sound in the vast, sun-drenched chamber. Occasionally, he would dip the slender brush into the small glass bottle of ink, letting the dark liquid ripple faintly before bringing it back to the page. Each stroke was measured, graceful, almost fragile. Like the rhythm of his breathing.
He had to focus.
Focus on his writing.
Focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Focus on the quiet control of his trembling hands.
It was a routine born not of discipline, but of necessity. His disease demanded it.
Ever since he was old enough to understand what 'sick' meant, Kaelix had been told, repeatedly, that his condition had ruined his life. Or rather, that it was his fault his life had to be so carefully guarded. The Queen reminded him often, with her voice sweet but sharp like glass, that he had to be cautious, obedient, delicate. For his own good, of course.
Years ago, the news had spread across the kingdom like wildfire: the young prince, brave and well, was managing his rare condition with the help of the finest physician in the capital, Doctor Seible. Every week, the doctor would arrive, his leather bag in hand and his calm smile reassuring. Kaelix had grown accustomed to the man's steady presence, the soft prick of the needle, the brief sting of the test, the quiet hum of approval when his levels were stable.
But one morning, the visits simply stopped.
Doctor Seible, the Queen announced curtly, had resigned for "personal reasons". A meeting was held, a long, tiring one filled with murmurs Kaelix wasn't allowed to attend. For weeks afterward, he was in uncertainty. He couldn't check his own sugar levels; not because he lacked the knowledge, but because he wasn't permitted to.
"It's too dangerous", the Queen had said. "You might make a mistake. Or worse, try something foolish."
And so Kaelix waited. Helpless. His days passed in a haze of ink and still air, writing to distract himself from the gnawing unease in his chest. The palace staff walked on eggshells around him, the Queen busied herself with meetings, and time blurred together into a quiet, stifling monotony.
Until one morning, his birthday, of all days, the door opened, and his routine broke.
Today was not Kaelix's birthday, not yet, at least. It lingered a week or two away, waiting like a shadow creeping closer each day. But the thought of it already unsettled him. His birthdays were never simple affairs; they were extravagant, loud, and suffocating, filled with watchful eyes and endless reminders that he was not free, only celebrated.
And this year, more than ever, he was nervous. Not because of the guests or the attention, but because he had no idea what his sugar levels were. No idea if his body was quietly betraying him as he sat there, trying to pretend everything was fine.
He dipped his brush once more into the pot of ink, the tip glistening black in the morning light. But his wrist stilled before the brush touched paper. The faint scent of the ink mixed with parchment, a smell that usually calmed him, yet today it only deepened his unease.
Then, Knock! Knock!
The sound tore through his thoughts like a spark. Kaelix blinked, back in the real world. It couldn't be his mother. The Queen never knocked. She walked into rooms like she owned them, and perhaps she did. Respect wasn't something she offered freely, not even to her own son.
"You may enter," Kaelix called, his tone even tired. He set his brush down beside the scattered pages littering his small writing table, each one filled with delicate script and half-finished ideas.
The door creaked open with a groan, followed by a hesitant voice. "Your Highness... The Queen is occupied at the moment, but she wishes to send a request."
The speaker stepped inside, a young guard, one of the newer ones. Kaelix recognized him immediately. He was shy, quiet, the sort who always seemed unsure whether to breathe or bow first. His armour didn't quite fit, and his eyes darted nervously around the room as if afraid to break something by looking too hard.
Kaelix tilted his head slightly, acknowledging him. "Go on."
The guard cleared his throat, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Yes, Yes, Her Majesty requests that you meet with your new doctor sometime this evening. He is waiting on the second floor. You'll find that he stands out quite a bit... from the others. Including yourself, Your Highness."
A new doctor. Finally. Kaelix leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I see," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with dry amusement. "And can he not visit me here? In my own room?"
The guard flinched slightly. "I... Ah- with all due respect, Your Highness, it would be... inappropriate for someone new to enter your private chambers without permission."
Kaelix raised an eyebrow. "Inappropriate, is it?" His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "A bold word coming from you, the new guard who just stepped into my private chambers without much hesitation."
The poor man froze, eyes widening as he realized his mistake. His word Stumbled over each other before finally forming something coherent. "Y-You have a point, Your Highness. I'll... I'll inform the Queen at once. Pardon me."
He bowed so quickly it was almost a blur, then turned and left in a flustered hurry.
Kaelix couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped his lips once the door clicked shut. "Adorable," he muttered under his breath. Stretching his arms over his head, he stood from his chair and let out a long sigh, his joints popping lightly. The palace felt unbearably still again, save for the faint sound of the wind brushing against the high glass windows.
Perhaps meeting this new doctor wouldn't be such a bad change of pace after all.
“I suppose I’ll just go see for myself,” Kaelix murmured, his voice low but resolute. “Gets me doing something, and out of this room.”
He brushed the faint specks of ink and dust from his clothes, straightening the fine embroidery on his dark robes. With a small exhale, he turned toward the grand double doors of his chamber and stepped out. The hinges gave a quiet groan, as if unused to opening.
Kaelix preferred the stairs over the elevators, always had. The thought of being trapped in a small box surrounded by attendants made his chest tighten. The stairs, at least, offered silence, solitude, and air that didn’t feel borrowed. So, he descended, his steps soft against the polished marble, one hand gliding lazily along the cool golden railing. His fingers traced the intricate engravings, twisting vines, etched crowns, tiny lions, that spiralled down the balustrade like a story carved in metal.
The palace was unusually quiet today. Even for him.
Not the gentle hush of order, but a silence that stretched too far, too heavy, like the air before a storm. No guards at their usual posts. No maids whispering or sweeping. Just the faint hum of distant chandeliers and his own breathing echoing against stone walls.
By the time Kaelix reached the second floor, the emptiness felt almost deliberate.
He scanned the corridor, expecting to spot a man in the usual attire, a pristine white coat, a neatly knotted tie, perhaps a stethoscope glinting beneath the lantern light. His previous doctor, Seible, had always looked the part, proper and predictable. But there was no one.
He turned in place, frowning lightly, until a voice broke through the stillness behind him.
“You are Prince Kaelix, correct?”
The tone was deep, smooth, yet carrying an edge of darkness that made the hairs on Kaelix’s arms stand upright. It wasn’t harsh, but rather… deliberate. Confident.
Kaelix turned, his robe flowing around him in soft folds of silk. His eyes landed on the man who stood a few paces away, tall, dressed not in white but in shades of black and forest green. A top hat rested on his head, its brim shadowing half of his face, and his gloved handheld a small case of instruments that gleamed faintly beneath the dim light.
“Yes,” Kaelix replied calmly, though curiosity flickered in his tone. “You are correct. And who might you be?”
The stranger’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. “I am Zeal Ginjoka. Have you not heard?” His voice carried that same quiet arrogance, the kind that didn’t demand attention but assumed it was already his.
Kaelix tilted his head slightly, a strand of silver-white hair falling into his face. “Speak.”
Zeal’s smirk softened into a more formal expression. “I am your new doctor. My formal title is Doctor Ginjoka, but if it pleases Your Royal Highness, you may simply call me Zeal.”
He removed his top hat, revealing a cascade of dark, almost ink-black hair with faint streaks of green that caught the light. Bowing low, he placed the hat over his chest, every movement fluid and practiced. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”
Kaelix studied him for a long moment. The precision of his bow, the confidence in his posture, the glint of amusement in his eyes. He couldn’t decide if the man was mocking or merely mannered.
“Oh, so I’ve heard,” Kaelix said, allowing a faint smirk of his own. “You’re my new doctor, then. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tell me, where have you come from?”
Zeal straightened, his gaze steady and unreadable. “I’ve come from afar,” he said, his voice dipping slightly lower, “and I’ll be taking residence here within the palace walls. I have been personally assigned as your physician, your personal doctor, if you will.”
Something in the way he said that word personal made the air between them shift. Not threatening, but intense, like a storm gathering in silence.
Kaelix blinked slowly, his lips curving into a faint, intrigued smile. “I see.”