Before

Chapter Rewrite

1763 - The Kingdom of Sardinia

In the heart of Sardinia, a realm flourishing under King Alexander's rule, fairness and prosperity reigned supreme. The king, beloved by his subjects, was not just a ruler but a beacon of hope. His astute business acumen and unwavering sense of justice ensured that every family thrived equally, with no one wealthier than the other. Trade flourished in the bustling markets, each villager benefiting from the king's tireless efforts. He went beyond mere governance, personally organizing the trading days, bringing in goods from his kingdom, and preparing them at no cost to his people. The king's generosity extended to negotiating deals with neighboring realms, reallocating his gains to provide useful items for his subjects. This harmonious system had served the kingdom well—until now.

For days, the castle’s grandeur stood quiet, the marketplace thrumming with activity yet noticeably absent its king. Whispers of concern coursed through the villagers, their hearts heavy with anxiety. Rumors circulated that something was amiss, and an unsettling sense of dread began to settle upon the kingdom. I could feel it too—a nagging fear that our beloved king had fallen ill. Something was wrong. His absence was too pronounced, too uncharacteristic.

Two agonizing days passed since the last market, and worry compelled a group of us to seek answers from the castle’s advisors. As we approached the grand doors adorned with intricate carvings, they creaked open, revealing an advisor whose eyes shimmered with unshed tears. My gut tightened. No good news ever accompanied such expressions.

"Is the king unwell?" we asked, voices laced with concern. The advisor's somber nod confirmed our fears: King Alexander was gravely ill, and without swift action, his life hung by a thread. My heart raced. Grasping at shadows of hope, I remembered my grandmother, a skilled medicine woman with a wealth of ancient knowledge. She might hold the key to saving our king.

I bid the advisor farewell and set forth on the long journey to my grandmother’s secluded cabin, nestled at the edge of the kingdom, where the air kissed the salty scent of the ocean. The path wound through familiar fields, but today felt different, heavy with urgency. Upon arriving at her cozy abode, I found her already prepared—a testament to her uncanny intuition. It was as if she had anticipated my arrival and was ready to face the storm together.

We hurried back to the castle, my grandmother moving with unexpected speed, her resilience defying her age. I marveled at her stamina—how could someone so old move with such purpose?

When we reached the castle, our hearts raced with resolve. Without waiting for an official greeting, she made her way straight to the king’s chamber, her authority unquestioned. I hesitated outside the door as they entered, peering in to see the once-mighty king, now pallid and frail. It cut deep to witness his suffering. My grandmother's sharp eyes assessed his condition, and she spoke quickly to the advisor, insisting on immediate action. I wanted to stay, to witness her healing touch, but it was her custom to shield her magic from onlookers. Reluctantly, I retreated with the advisor back to our home.

Upon arrival, my father awaited me, a figure of strength and comfort as I shared the troubling news. The advisor departed, leaving me with a flicker of hope: my grandmother had the power to heal, and she had gone to work on our king.

Two days later, news arrived that sent warmth flooding through my chest. My grandmother visited, her demeanor brightened with assurance. "I have helped him," she announced, a calm radiating from her. "By week’s end, the king shall be restored to health." Grateful for her ingenuity, we invited her to dinner, relishing her company around the fire, savoring the stories that warmed our hearts.

As the night deepened, however, she insisted on returning to her own cabin—an impenetrable fortress of solitude that she cherished. We respected her wishes, knowing well the futility of debate.

And just as she had foretold, King Alexander returned to his duties by the week’s end, vibrant and seemingly reborn. Though his spirit was unchanged, an indescribable vitality sparkled in his eyes. He exuded an aura of health that felt almost otherworldly, as if he had forged a new existence, more robust and vigorous than the one he had before his ailment. I could not shake the feeling that something extraordinary had occurred during those days of his illness. The kingdom rejoiced, but I couldn’t help but ponder the secrets my grandmother had woven into her healing—secrets that danced on the edge of the mystical, intertwining our fates with the enigmatic heart of Sardinia’s most revered king.