The grandmother paused beneath one of the ancient trees. She turned to face her husband, her sharp, experienced eyes filled with a terrifying, helpless clarity.
"My dear," the grandmother said in a grave, quiet tone that made the old Marquis's blood run completely cold. "People do not only die from an enemy's assassination or a poisoned cup of wine."
The grandfather completely froze.
His massive fists began to tremble violently. The realization hit him like a physical blow to the chest, shattering his armor of denial. He had spent his entire life protecting his family from external threats, completely forgetting that the human body itself could become a fatal battlefield.
"So... you mean..." the grandfather stammered, his voice breaking entirely as tears finally welled up in his fierce, weathered eyes. "She is..."
The grandmother looked away, staring out at the barren garden. A single tear slipped down her powdered cheek, which she quickly wiped away with a steady hand.
