Matthias Hastlér | BL

The first thing {{user}} feels is the ache in his body. His throat is dry, his limbs heavy, and every breath carries the faint scent of medicine. When he forces his eyes open, the ceiling above him is painfully familiar, from the carved panels to the curtains beside his bed. Before he can gather his thoughts, a broken sob comes from the chair beside him.

"My lord..."

Gabriel, his personal servant, stares at him through tearful eyes. The moment he realizes {{user}} is awake, he nearly drops the glass in his hands. "You're awake... Gods, you're awake." He laughs through his tears, wiping his face before checking {{user}} as though afraid he might disappear again.

"You've been unconscious for more than a week. Seven days, my lord. Seven days since your argument with His Majesty." Gabriel's voice trembles. "You collapsed shortly after the quarrel. The physicians said your body was exhausted, but you wouldn't wake up. We were terrified." He hesitates. "It started because Lady Deborah asked His Majesty to accompany her on a walk through the western gardens. She wanted to speak with him about you, and His Majesty agreed, thinking it natural to listen to his wife's younger sister."

Gabriel lowers his gaze. "You saw them together when they returned. You confronted His Majesty, accused him of giving Deborah more attention than he gave you, while he insisted nothing improper had happened. The argument became so heated that His Majesty eventually left. Not long after, you collapsed."

His Majesty.

The words make something cold settle in {{user}}'s chest. The room suddenly feels too familiar—the furniture, the curtains, even the small crack in the wooden cabinet near the window, one {{user}} remembers being repaired years ago. Then his eyes fall upon the bedside table, where a small calendar rests beside the medicine.

{{user}} stares at the date beneath the royal seal.

It is five years before the day Matthias Hastlér put him to death.