Chapter 19 – Feeding Time for the Sleeping Prince and the Rumors of War

【Elizabeth PoV】

The Hero hadn’t eaten in eight hours.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The golden afternoon light had faded to evening darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of my barrier spells. They pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of the fortress I’d built around us.

He needed nutrients.

His body was burning through reserves to maintain basic functions, healing from the mana exhaustion even while unconscious. If I didn’t get food into him soon, he’d start cannibalizing muscle mass. The thought of his perfect physique wasting away made something twist violently in my chest.

Unacceptable.

I stood, my legs still shaky from magical overexertion. The room spun slightly but I pushed through it, crossing to the small alchemy station I kept in the corner. Most people assumed it was for potion brewing, emergency antidotes, standard Saintess supplies.

They weren’t wrong, but they also weren’t entirely right.

I pulled ingredients from carefully labeled jars, working with practiced efficiency. Dragon marrow for cellular regeneration, crushed moonflower petals for mana restoration, purified spring water blessed under three full moons. Each component was rare, expensive, the kind of thing most people couldn’t afford even if they knew where to find it.

The Hero deserved nothing less than perfection.

I heated the mixture over a controlled flame, watching the ingredients dissolve and merge. The potion turned pale gold, giving off a faint shimmer that indicated proper synthesis. It smelled like honey and something indefinable, something that made my mouth water despite knowing it was designed for someone else.

Five minutes of careful stirring and the consistency reached ideal viscosity.

Thick enough to carry maximum nutrients, thin enough to swallow easily. I poured it into a crystal goblet, the liquid catching the barrier-light in beautiful refractions.

I carried it back to the bed and sat down carefully.

The Hero’s face was peaceful, his lips slightly parted. Long lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, and I took a moment to just appreciate the genetic miracle that was his face. Sharp jaw, perfect nose, skin that looked like it had never experienced a single blemish.

I reached out with my free hand, tracing the line of his cheekbone with one finger.

So soft.

So impossibly, devastatingly perfect.

“Time to eat, my love.”

I tilted his head back slightly, supporting his neck with practiced care. His mouth fell open a bit wider and I positioned the goblet at his lips.

The first problem became immediately obvious.

He couldn’t swallow on his own.

I poured a small amount of the potion into his mouth and watched in horror as it just pooled there, threatening to spill out the sides or worse, go down the wrong pipe and choke him.

Panic shot through my chest.

I pulled the goblet back quickly, using my thumb to catch the liquid before it could drip onto his precious pajamas. Think, think, I needed a solution that didn’t involve accidentally drowning him in healing potion.

Water manipulation.

The technique was usually used for large-scale spells, moving rivers or creating barriers. But in theory, the same principles applied to small amounts of liquid. I just needed surgical precision and absolute control, two things I was definitely struggling with given my depleted mana state.

No choice.

I took a deep breath and extended my awareness into the potion. The liquid responded to my will, becoming an extension of my consciousness. I could feel each molecule, the way it wanted to flow and spread and obey gravity.

I overrode gravity’s authority.

The potion lifted from the goblet in a thin stream, floating through the air like a golden ribbon. I guided it carefully to the Hero’s parted lips, letting it slide into his mouth with agonizing slowness.

Then came the hard part.

I extended my control deeper, feeling for the muscles of his throat. They were relaxed, inactive, completely unhelpful. I wrapped the potion around them like liquid encouragement, creating pressure that mimicked natural swallowing.

His throat moved.

The potion slid down his esophagus, guided by my magic every millimeter of the way.

Success.

Relief flooded through me so intensely I almost dropped my concentration. I forced myself to stay focused, repeating the process with another small amount. Stream of liquid, into his mouth, pressure on the throat, swallow.

It was slow, tedious, absolutely exhausting work.

I didn’t care.

Each successful swallow meant he was being taken care of, nourished, protected. This was what love looked like, the unglamorous reality of devotion. Feeding an unconscious person with magical IV drip precision while the rest of the world burned outside.

The goblet was half empty when the communication crystal flared to life.

The sudden burst of blue light made me flinch, nearly losing control of the potion stream. I caught it at the last second, easing the liquid safely down the Hero’s throat before turning to glare at the offending crystal.

It sat on the nightstand, pulsing with urgent energy.

Someone was trying to reach me through the Crystal Network, the kingdom’s long-distance magical communication system. Only high-ranking officials had access, which meant this was either important or annoying.

Probably both.

I set the goblet down and picked up the crystal, channeling a tiny thread of mana into it.

“What.”

Marcus’s voice crackled through, distorted by the magical interference of my barrier spells.

“Your Holiness, urgent report from the northern border.”

I waited, examining the Hero’s face for any signs of distress from the feeding. His expression remained peaceful, oblivious.

“The Demon Army is mobilizing.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

I processed them slowly, turning the information over in my mind. Demon Army, mobilizing, northern border. That meant troops, organized movement, probably preparation for invasion or at least aggressive posturing.

Most people would panic at that news.

I smiled.

“How many?”

“Scouts report at least twenty thousand, possibly more. They’re moving in formation, Your Holiness. This isn’t a raid, it’s—”

“War.”

I finished his sentence, still smiling.

“Yes. The Royal Council is calling an emergency session. They’re requesting the Hero’s presence immediately.”

My smile widened into something that would probably terrify small children.

“Tell the Council the Hero is indisposed.”

Silence on the other end, the kind that meant Marcus was trying to figure out how to phrase his objection without getting incinerated.

“Your Holiness, with respect, this is a demon invasion. The Hero is literally our strongest—”

“The Hero is recovering from Divine Mana Exhaustion.”

I kept my voice pleasant, sweet even.

“Sending him to battle in his current condition would be suicidal. I’m sure the Council understands that protecting our greatest asset takes priority over rushing him into combat prematurely.”

“The Council may not see it that way—”

“Then the Council can come here and try to take him.”

The pleasantness evaporated from my voice like water on hot steel.

“I’ll be happy to demonstrate exactly why that’s a terrible idea.”

More silence.

I turned my attention back to the Hero, picking up the goblet again. The potion had cooled slightly but was still viable. I resumed the feeding process, guiding another stream of liquid into his mouth with delicate precision.

“Your Holiness.”

Marcus tried again, his voice careful.

“If the demons breach the border, civilian casualties will be catastrophic. The Hero could save thousands of lives.”

“The Hero needs rest.”

I watched the golden liquid slide down the Hero’s throat, satisfaction warming my chest.

“Besides, we have armies for a reason. The Knights can handle a demon incursion without throwing our most valuable piece onto the board prematurely.”

“The Knights won’t be enough—”

“Then they’ll die.”

I said it casually, like discussing the weather.

“That’s what soldiers do, Marcus. They fight and sometimes they die. It’s literally in the job description.”

The crystal pulsed with what I interpreted as barely controlled horror.

“You’re suggesting we sacrifice our own troops—”

“I’m suggesting we don’t waste the Hero’s recovery time on a problem that conventional forces can address.”

I set the now-empty goblet aside and reached for a silk cloth, dampening it with blessed water from a nearby basin.

“Declare martial law, mobilize the full military, pull reserves from the southern garrisons if needed. But the Hero stays here until I deem him combat-ready.”

I began wiping the Hero’s face with gentle strokes, cleaning away the faint residue of potion from his lips.

“And Marcus? This demon mobilization is the perfect justification for enhanced security protocols. No one in or out of the estate without my explicit authorization. Anyone who questions this goes on the watch list.”

“Your Holiness, this sounds like—”

“Responsible wartime security measures.”

I interrupted, my tone making it clear the conversation was over.

“Inform the Council of my decision. The Hero will address them when he’s ready, not before.”

I cut the connection before Marcus could argue further.

The crystal’s light faded, leaving the room in soft barrier-glow once again. I tossed it onto a chair across the room, not caring where it landed.

The demon army was mobilizing.

Perfect.

Absolutely, wonderfully perfect.

War meant martial law, which meant enhanced security, which meant no one would question why the Hero was locked in his room. War meant everyone would be too busy with strategy meetings and troop movements to wonder why he wasn’t making public appearances. War meant I had the perfect excuse to keep him exactly where he belonged.

Safe with me.

I ran the damp cloth along his jawline, wiping away invisible imperfections.

His skin was so smooth, no stubble, no roughness. I’d always wondered how he managed that, whether it was divine blessing or just stupid good genetics. My fingers followed the cloth, unable to resist the temptation to touch.

“The demons are coming.”

I whispered it to his sleeping form, setting the cloth aside.

“Everyone’s panicking, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The Council wants you to save them, the people want their Hero, everyone wants a piece of you.”

I picked up an ornate silver comb from the nightstand.

“But you’re not going anywhere.”

I began running the comb through his golden hair, working out tangles with obsessive care. Each stroke was meditative, calming, a ritual of possession disguised as grooming.

“Let the knights handle it. Let the armies do their job. You’ve done enough.”

His hair caught the barrier-light beautifully, shimmering like spun gold.

“Besides, what if the demons are specifically targeting you? What if they know about your condition, about the mana exhaustion? Sending you out there would be exactly what they want.”

The logic was sound, at least to me.

The demons had attacked him with that Berserker right before he collapsed. Too convenient to be coincidence, obviously a coordinated assassination attempt. Going to the front lines now would be walking into a trap.

“No, you stay here where it’s safe.”

I set the comb down and just ran my fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky texture.

“In this room, behind these barriers, with me watching over you every second. Nothing can hurt you here.”

My hand drifted down to his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath my palm.

Strong, rhythmic, alive.

“The war will end eventually. Demons always lose, that’s how these things work. And when it’s over, when everyone’s forgotten about this crisis and moved on to the next one, you’ll wake up.”

I leaned closer, my face inches from his.

“And I’ll be right here, the only one who never left. The only one who protected you when everyone else wanted to use you.”

His breath was warm against my skin, steady and unconscious.

“You’ll understand then. You’ll see that everything I did was for you, to keep you safe and whole and perfect.”

I pressed my forehead against his, closing my eyes.

“Even if you hate me at first. Even if you’re angry. Eventually you’ll realize this was love.”

The barrier spells hummed around us, a fortress of light and magic and absolute control.

Outside, somewhere in the distance, alarm bells started ringing.

The city was mobilizing for war, citizens flooding into panic, soldiers marching toward an uncertain future.

Inside this room, time stood still.

Just me and him and the golden cage I’d built from devotion and madness in equal measure.

I pulled back, studying his face one more time.

“Sleep well, my love. I’ll handle everything.”

I kissed his forehead, soft and reverent.

“The demons, the Council, the entire world if I have to. Nothing matters except keeping you safe.”

The alarm bells rang louder, more insistent.

I ignored them completely, settling onto the bed beside the Hero.

Let the world burn.

I had everything I needed right here.