Chapter 2: **Desperation in the Palace**

(Author's POV)

The moonlight filtered through the towering stained-glass windows of the palace throne room, casting fragmented colors across the polished floors. The air was heavy with tension, and the faint echo of footsteps seemed to reverberate endlessly through the cavernous space.

Queen Elara paced back and forth, her hands wringing together in helpless frustration. Her gown of deep blue velvet trailed behind her, but the regal aura she normally carried was overshadowed by the weight of grief etched into her face. At the center of the room, King Alden sat on the edge of his throne, his shoulders slumped as though the weight of the kingdom itself bore down on him.

"His fever isn't breaking, Alden!" Elara cried, turning to face her husband. Her voice cracked with desperation, her composure slipping further with each word. "The court physicians, the mages, the healers—they’ve all failed! Our son—our only son—is slipping away, and none of them can save him!"

King Alden’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the armrests of his throne. "I know, Elara," he said, his voice low and strained. "Do you think I haven’t tried everything? I've summoned every healer from across the kingdom. What more can we do?"

The queen shook her head, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "We cannot just sit here and watch him die!" she said, her voice rising. "There has to be someone, something we haven’t thought of yet."

As if summoned by her words, the heavy doors to the throne room creaked open. A hunched figure shuffled into the room—a shaman clad in robes of muted brown, his staff tapping softly against the floor with each step. His face was weathered, his eyes shadowed with years of experience, but there was a hint of defeat in his expression.

King Alden straightened in his seat as the shaman approached. "Well?" the king demanded, his voice sharp and commanding. "What is your verdict? Can you heal him or not?"

The shaman stopped a few paces from the throne and bowed his head deeply. "Your Majesty, I have done all that I can. The prince’s illness is... beyond my understanding. There is a darkness within him, one that resists all light and healing."

The queen let out a strangled sob, her hands flying to her mouth as she turned away. The king’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You’re telling me that even with all your years of training, all your so-called knowledge, you can do nothing?"

The shaman flinched at the king’s tone but remained composed. "This is no ordinary illness, my lord. It is not of this world. It is as though the very life is being drained from him by an unseen force. Only magic—powerful magic—can combat such a curse."

"Then find someone who can!" Elara screamed, spinning back around to face the shaman. "You’re a fool if you think we’ll accept your failure. My son will not die!"

The shaman bowed again, deeply this time. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but there is nothing more I can do. I will take my leave." With that, he turned and shuffled out of the room, leaving the royal couple in anguished silence.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the queen’s quiet weeping. Then she dropped to her knees before the king, her gown pooling around her like water.

"Alden," she said, her voice trembling. "There is one more option. One more path we haven’t taken."

The king frowned, leaning forward to look at her. "What are you saying, Elara?"

She hesitated, her hands gripping the edge of his throne as though she needed it to steady herself. "Bring in the dark shaman," she whispered.

Alden’s expression hardened immediately. "Absolutely not," he snapped. "You know the laws of Eldoria, Elara. We do not consort with those who practice black magic. It is forbidden!"

"But what choice do we have?" Elara pleaded, her voice rising again. "Do you care more about the laws of this kingdom than the life of your son? If the dark shaman can help him, does it not make sense to at least try? What good are laws if they cannot save him?"

The king stared at her, his face a mixture of anger and anguish. He wanted to argue, to remind her of the dangers of dabbling in forbidden magic, but her words cut deep. He loved his son. He had ruled this kingdom with an iron will for years, but for the first time, he felt powerless.

Elara reached out and gripped his hand, her fingers trembling. "Please, Alden," she whispered. "I am begging you. For our son’s life, for the future of Eldoria. We must try."

A long silence filled the room as the king closed his eyes, his mind warring with itself. Finally, he exhaled, the sound heavy with resignation.

"Very well," he said at last. "Send word to the dark shaman. Tell him to come at once."

Elara’s tears fell anew, this time out of relief. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Alden. I know this is not easy, but it is the right choice."

"I hope you’re right," the king said quietly, his voice tinged with doubt. "For all our sakes, I hope you’re right."

As Elara rose to her feet, she wiped her tears away and straightened her gown. The weight of what they had just decided hung heavily in the air. The dark shaman was known throughout Eldoria, not only for his forbidden practices but for the chaos that often followed in his wake.

Neither the king nor the queen could kn

ow what price they would pay for seeking his help.