The Royal Agreement

Chapter Five

“Ciella, you have to eat something.”

Mom’s voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of worry that she couldn’t hide. I didn’t look at her. I just shook my head, turning my gaze back to the window. But I wasn’t really looking at anything outside.

My eyes might have been fixed on the trees swaying in the morning breeze, and the occasional car passing by, but my mind was somewhere else entirely—lost in the fog of what happened last night.

The pain… I couldn’t shake it. It felt like it had nearly cost me my life. That searing, relentless agony that came out of nowhere, ripping through my skull like a storm. Even now, in the soft morning light, with the doctors and my parents hovering nearby, the memory of it lingered like a dark cloud. I never wanted to experience anything like that again.

It was early in the morning now, and I was under close observation by my physicians. They’d been keeping an eye on me for years, ever since that accident happened. That same accident took everything from me—my memories, my sense of self.

But last night was different. Even they admitted that. When I woke up this morning, still groggy and disoriented, they were already in the room, explaining to my parents what had happened. Their faces were grave, their voices hushed.

When they questioned me about the image that had flashed in my mind, the one that had seemingly triggered the episode, all I could tell them was, “I don’t know.” And it was true. I really didn’t know.

I had no idea what that image was, where it came from, or why it had caused my brain to go into overdrive, almost killing me in the process. The only thing I could remember was sitting at the dinner table, listening to the conversation, and then… nothing. Just the screaming, the unbearable pain, and then the darkness.

My friends, bless them, rushed to the hospital as soon as they heard. Paige was the first to speak, her voice soft, almost pleading.

“Ciella,” she murmured, standing by the side of my bed. “Please eat something.”

But I shook my head again. “I’m not hungry, Paige. I don’t want to eat.”

Mom was sitting close by, her eyes never leaving me. I knew she was watching for any sign, any little hint that something was wrong. If I so much as winced, she’d have the doctors back in here in an instant, questioning me, poking and prodding until they were satisfied.

I felt more like a prisoner than a patient, trapped in this sterile room with nothing but their concerned eyes and pitiful expressions to keep me company.

I hated it. I hated every second of it. Last night had shaken me to my core, but the way everyone was treating me now—as if I were made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment—was unbearable. I stared out the window again, wishing I could just disappear into the world outside, away from all of this.

I tried to remember the image that had flashed in my mind, the one that had triggered everything, but it was no use. It was like trying to grasp at smoke—no matter how hard I tried to focus, it slipped through my fingers, leaving me with nothing but frustration and a lingering sense of dread.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. Mom got up to answer it, and I turned slightly, curious. A man stood in the doorway, nearly hidden behind a massive bouquet of flowers. It was a stunning arrangement, filled with orchids, roses, and other blooms I couldn’t even name. The sheer size of it took up nearly the entire doorway.

I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I watched as the messenger carefully placed the bouquet on the table next to my bed. Mom signed something, then thanked him before he left, closing the door softly behind him.

“These are from Victoria,” Mom said, turning back to me. “She sends her deepest care for you and hopes that you’ll be better soon.”

“Mom, I will be, okay?” I tried to sound reassuring, but even to my own ears, the words rang hollow. “It wasn’t like the first time I woke up after that accident.”

Mom’s shoulders sagged, and she slowly sat down on the stool beside me. She took my hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, and I silently thanked the odds that it wasn’t the hand with the IV. Her grip was firm, but there was a tremble in her fingers that she couldn’t quite hide.

“It’s still fresh in our memories, Ciella,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Even if it was five years ago, it’s still fresh in our minds. You could have died.”

“Mom, enough,” I whispered, turning my head away from her. “I don’t want to remember that unfortunate accident. I can’t even remember who I am.”

Her words, so filled with fear and sorrow, hung in the air between us. I could feel the weight of them pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. I turned away, staring out the window again, trying to escape the crushing reality of it all.

That accident had taken everything from me—my memories, my identity, my sense of self. And even now, years later, I was still paying the price.

The only thing I could remember from before was the moment I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by strangers who told me they were my family and my friends.

Everything before that was a blank slate, a void that I couldn’t fill no matter how hard I tried. And now, even the present seemed to be slipping away, leaving me with nothing but the terrifying realization that I might never be whole again.

I closed my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but the darkness that greeted me behind my eyelids was no comfort. It was the same darkness that had swallowed me last night, and I feared it would consume me again. The memory of that pain, the echo of that voice, was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But for now, all I could do was lie here, trapped in this bed, staring out at a world that felt so far away, and hoping that somehow, someday, I would find a way to reclaim the pieces of myself that had been lost.