The Boy Who Smelled of Death at Birth: Genetic Necrosis in Royalty

The Madrid sun filtered through the heavy crimson velvet curtains of the Royal Palace, drawing faint golden rays on the marble floor. In the east wing, where the royal apartments were located, an unusual silence had taken over the normally bustling corridors.

The servants walked on tiptoe, exchanging worried glances, while the guards remained more rigid than usual. In the main room, Queen Isabel of Bourbon and Medici lay exhausted on the silk sheets, her face pale as wax, with strands of black hair stuck to her forehead with sweat.

Beside her, King Philip the First, with a somber expression, watched the small bundle that a wet nurse held with a cautious expression. His Majesty is a man, announced a royal physician, Don Francisco de Quevedo, in a voice that tried to convey enthusiasm, but failed to hide a certain unease.

The king approached slowly. This was their fifth child, but the first who seemed to have a chance of surviving beyond infancy. The previous ones had succumbed to various illnesses before reaching the age of three, plunging the Spanish court into a state of constant anxiety about the succession.

Let me see him, Philip ordered, extending his arms. The wet nurse hesitated for a moment, a gesture that did not escape the monarch’s notice before she handed him the newborn. As soon as the little prince was in his father’s arms, something strange happened.

The king frowned, bringing his nose close to the baby, wrapped in fine fabrics embroidered with gold thread. What is that smell, he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The royal physician approached cautiously. Your Majesty, we have bathed the prince with the finest oils and ointments.

It is not that, Philip interrupted. It is something different. At that moment, the Duchess of Medina Sidonia, Dona Luisa de Guzman, who had attended the birth as the queen’s lady-in-waiting, approached. Over sixty years old and having witnessed the birth of dozens of nobles, she was known for her frankness.

It is the smell of death, Your Majesty, she said in a low but firm voice. I have seen it before. On battlefields and in houses where the plague has passed. A deathly silence fell over the room. The queen, still weak, sobbed softly. The king, whose face had turned pale, mechanically returned the baby to the wet nurse.

Let no one, absolutely no one outside this room, know about this, he ordered sharply. Prince Carlos Baltasar will be presented to the court in three days, as is tradition. In the meantime, I want the best doctors in the kingdom to examine him, and you, Francisco, do not leave his side for a single moment.

The royal physician nodded, though his expression revealed deep concern. There was something about that baby that was unnatural, but he dared not express it in front of the king. Three weeks later, in the king’s private office, Don Francisco presented his report to a small group.

The monarch, his personal advisor, the Count Duke of Olivares, and surprisingly, a foreign visitor, Doctor Einrichon Leiden, personal physician to the Austrian emperor and a distant relative of the Spanish royal family. Your Majesty, we have examined the prince thoroughly, Don Francisco began, avoiding direct eye contact with the king.

His physical development appears normal for a newborn, although he exhibits some unusual paleness. He eats well, cries loudly, but the smell persists, even intensifying at times. And what does science say about this, asked the Count Duke, a shrewd and pragmatic man who had been the king’s right-hand man for decades.

Modern science has no explanation, sir, Francisco replied. I have consulted all available medical treatises, from Galen to the most recent studies from the University of Salamanca. There is no record of a similar case. The king rose from his seat and walked to the window overlooking the palace gardens.

In the distance, he could see nobles strolling about, oblivious to the crisis unfolding behind the stone walls. And you, Doctor von Leiden, have you seen anything similar in your years of practice? The Austrian physician, a slender man with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed white beard, cleared his throat.

Your Majesty, I have treated European nobility for forty years, including many members of your family. What afflicts Prince Charles is something I have observed, though never so pronouncedly, in other branches of the Habsburgs. The silence that followed this statement was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

Everyone in the room knew the implications of those words. Marriages between close relatives had been common practice among European royalty, especially the Habsburgs, to maintain purity of blood and solidify political alliances. Continue, the king ordered, his voice betraying a mixture of fear and resignation.

I call it genetic necrosis, Your Majesty. It is as if the body were partially dead from birth. The tissues deteriorate more rapidly than in normal people. I have observed similar symptoms in the Archdukes of Austria, although in them it manifests in other ways, deformed jaws, mental disorders, inability to father healthy heirs.

You are saying my son is doomed, Philip interrupted, his voice barely audible. Von Leiden held the king’s gaze with professional dignity. Not exactly, Your Majesty. The prince may live for many years, even reach adulthood, but his life will be different, and the smell will likely never disappear.

And there is no cure, nothing medicine can do, the duke asked. Modern medicine cannot cure it, von Leiden replied. But there are treatments that can alleviate the symptoms, special baths, specific diets, certain exercises that could strengthen his constitution. The king finally turned to those present, his face a mask of determination.

Then we will do everything possible. And in the meantime, no one, absolutely no one outside this room, must know the true nature of the prince’s condition. Olivares, take it upon yourself to create an explanation for the court. Something about a special perfume the prince must wear for ceremonial reasons.

Yes, Your Majesty, the Count Duke agreed. And you, Doctor von Leiden, I offer double your current salary to remain in Madrid as the prince’s personal physician. The Austrian bowed his head. It is an honor, Your Majesty, but I must consult with the Emperor. I will send a personal letter requesting your services, Philip replied.

This goes beyond politics. It is the survival of our dynasty that is at stake. Five kilometers from the Royal Palace, in the Lavapies neighborhood, a seventeen-year-old girl hurried through narrow alleyways. Ana Maria Hernandez, daughter of a respected apothecary but of humble origins, carried a carefully wrapped package.

Her father had received an unusual commission, to prepare a special ointment with herbs brought expressly from the New World. Some were so rare he had never heard of them. The royal messenger had been clear. They had to deliver the ointment before nightfall, and no one was to know of its existence.

The payment was generous, enough for her family to live comfortably for months. Ana Maria turned a corner and bumped into a group of young noblemen laughing loudly. Among them, she recognized Diego de Velazquez, the apprentice to the court painter, who greeted her with a discreet gesture.

Ana Maria, what brings you to this area, he asked, momentarily separating himself from his companions. Matters for my father, she replied, instinctively clutching the package to her chest. Diego looked at her curiously. By the age of twenty, he was already known for his extraordinary talent and keen observation.

It must be important for him to send you alone, given how protective he is. Ana Maria shrugged, trying to downplay the matter. They are just medicinal herbs, nothing extraordinary for the court, I suppose. Diego insisted. Rumors are circulating that the little prince is not well. They say he has a strange smell that no perfume can disguise.

The young woman felt a chill. Her father had not given her any details about the purpose of the story, but now the pieces were beginning to fall into place. You should not pay attention to rumors, she replied, trying to maintain a casual tone. I have to go, it is getting late.

Diego nodded, but his eyes revealed that he was not convinced. Be careful, Ana Maria. Palace secrets are often dangerous for those who know them. With these words, the young painter returned to his friends, leaving Ana Maria with a feeling of unease. She quickened her pace, aware that what she carried in her hands might be more important than she had imagined.

Upon reaching a plaza near the palace, a man dressed in simple but fine clothing approached her. Are you carrying the order from the Apothecary Hernandez, he asked in a low voice. Ana Maria nodded, handing over the package. The man examined it briefly before passing her a small bag that clinked with the weight of the coins.

Your father has served the crown well, he said. We may require more of your services in the future. When the man walked away, Ana Maria could not help but feel curious. What illness could the prince have that required such strange treatments? And why all the secrecy?

What she did not know was that she would soon be much more involved in the mystery than she could ever have imagined. Time passed inexorably in the Spanish court. Prince Carlos Baltasar had turned six years old and against all odds, he enjoyed relatively good health by the standards of the time.

Physically, he was a child of fragile but not sickly constitution, with the characteristic prominent chin of the Habsburgs, and dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to observe the world with a wisdom unbecoming of his age. However, the smell persisted. Over the years, Doctor von Leiden had tried dozens of treatments.

From ointments prepared by the apothecary Hernandez to exotic remedies brought from the most remote colonies of the Spanish Empire. Some temporarily alleviated the situation, but none provided a permanent solution. The court had adapted to this peculiarity with the discretion that characterized the Spanish nobility.

Officially, the prince used a ceremonial perfume that symbolized his connection to the divine. An explanation that the Count Duke of Olivares had meticulously prepared and that no one dared to openly question. In private, the courtiers spoke of the perfumed prince and discreetly covered their noses with handkerchiefs soaked in rosewater when in his presence.

The young prince was not unaware of his condition. At a surprisingly young age, he had begun to perceive the looks, the gestures, the distance that even his closest guardians maintained. With keen intelligence, he had deduced that there was something about him that provoked rejection.

When he turned five, during one of his daily sessions with Doctor von Leiden, he had confronted him directly. Why do I smell different, doctor? He had asked in a clear, firm voice, sitting on his small throne while the doctor examined his pulse. The Austrian, taken by surprise, had looked at the child with a mixture of compassion and respect.

After consulting with the king, they had decided to tell him a simplified version of the truth. They explained to him that he had a special condition, unique among the princes of Europe, which caused his body to produce a distinct aroma. It was neither good nor bad, it was simply part of who he was.

Since then, Charles had shown a curious acceptance of his situation, almost as if he understood the weight of the crown he would one day inherit and saw his condition as just another burden he had to bear with royal dignity. On his sixth birthday, the king had organized a special celebration.

For the first time, the prince would participate in a public event beyond formal appearances on balconies or in processions, where distance separated him from the people. It would be a limited audience, of course, with selected nobles and their children, but it represented an important step in integrating the future monarch into court life.

Are you nervous, Your Highness, asked Maria of Austria, her chief attendant, as she adjusted the lace collar of her blue velvet gown. Carlos shook his head. No, Maria, I have practiced my curtsies and I know the names of all the dukes and their children. The woman smiled tenderly.

Despite his condition, or perhaps because of it, the prince had developed a remarkable dignity and composure for his age. He spent hours studying protocol, history, and Latin, showing a dedication that surprised even his strictest tutors. Do you think they will like me, the boy suddenly asked, revealing for a moment the vulnerability hidden behind his princely facade.

Maria hesitated for a moment. You are the Prince of Spain, the future king of the greatest empire the world has ever known. It is not a matter of pleasing, but of respecting. Carlos nodded, but his eyes revealed that he understood the evasion. Doctor von Leiden says my condition has not worsened in the last year. That is good, right?

Very good, Maria replied, adjusting his suit one last time. Now remember to maintain the appropriate distance during greetings as we practiced. The throne room had been decorated with fresh flowers strategically arranged to fill the room with their fragrance. Silver candelabras held scented candles, and the windows had been opened to allow air circulation.

Every detail had been carefully planned to minimize the perception of the prince’s scent. When Charles entered, preceded by pages announcing his arrival, those present bowed deeply. Among them was Ana Maria Hernandez, now a twenty-three-year-old who had risen socially thanks to the royal favor.

Her father had passed away two years ago, but she had continued the family business, specializing in treatments for the prince and earning a place as an assistant to Doctor von Leiden. Ana Maria watched the little prince advance with measured steps. There was something touching about his childlike dignity, the way he held his head high, despite being aware of the eyes following him.

Since she had started working at the court, she had developed a special affection for the boy, impressed by his intelligence and the strength with which he faced his condition. The protocol dictated that the nobles would present their children to the prince, who would greet them with a brief bow of the head.

Everything was going according to plan, until it was the turn of the son of the Duke of Medina Celi, a seven-year-old boy known for his arrogant temperament. Your Highness, said the young nobleman as he bowed. My father says you smell like the tombs of the Escorial. A collective gasp swept through the room.

The Duke of Medinaceli paled, gripping his son tightly by the shoulder. Insolent one, apologize immediately. Carlos remained motionless, his face a mask of serenity. Then, in a clear voice that echoed in the suddenly silent hall, he replied, The tombs of El Escorial hold the kings of Spain, my ancestors. If I smell like them, it is because I carry their blood and their destiny.

Ana Maria held her breath, impressed by the prince’s response. Beside him, Doctor von Leiden nodded in approval. King Felipe, from his throne, flashed a proud smile. The rest of the ceremony passed without incident, but the exchange quickly became a topic of conversation in the palace corridors.

The prince has the wit of his father and the dignity of his mother, the courtiers commented with a newfound respect in their voices. That night, while Ana Maria was preparing the prince’s nightly bath with special salts brought from Persia, Carlos watched her with curiosity.

Miss Hernandez, do you also think I smell like tombs, he suddenly asked. Ana Maria stopped what she was doing, looking directly at the child. Your Highness, everyone has their own scent. Yours is simply different. But unpleasant, Carlos insisted. Different, she corrected gently. And in my case, I am so used to it that I hardly notice it.

The prince seemed to consider this answer by absentmindedly dipping a hand into the perfumed water. Doctor von Leiden says my condition is hereditary. Do you know what that means? It means it comes from your ancestors, Your Highness, and my children will suffer like that too.

The question, uttered innocently, childlike, yet laden with dynastic implications, left Ana Maria momentarily speechless. Medicine advances every day, Your Highness. By the time you have children, perhaps we will have found a cure. Carlos nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

He removed his robe and immersed himself in the bath, allowing Ana Maria to wash his hair with smooth, efficient movements. The Medinaceli boy was cruel. But truthful, the prince remarked as he rinsed himself. I prefer truthfulness to whispered lies. You are wise for your age, Your Highness, Ana Maria replied, surprised by the maturity of his observation.

It is not wisdom, Carlos retorted. It is necessity. A king cannot afford to live in ignorance, not even a king who reeks of death. These words, spoken in the high-pitched voice of a child but with the gravity of an adult, were etched into Ana Maria’s memory.

That night, as she returned to her quarters in the servants’ wing, she made a decision. She would intensify her research, search through ancient texts, and consult with healers from every region of the empire, if necessary. She would find a cure for the prince who smelled of death, not for the sake of the dynasty, but for the child who bore his burden with such dignity.

Thousands of miles from Madrid in Vienna, another member of the House of Habsburg faced his own genetic challenges. Archduke Leopold Wilhelm, brother of Emperor Ferdinand the First and second cousin of King Philip the First of Spain, was suffering from increasingly frequent bouts of madness.

In one of his lucid moments, he dictated a letter to his personal secretary, addressed to His Majesty Philip the First of Spain. Dear Cousin, he wrote, I have received news concerning the condition of the young Prince Charles Balthazar. Although our afflictions take different forms, we share the same blood.

During my moments of mental clarity, I have dedicated my studies to understanding what afflicts us. I have found ancient texts that suggest our condition might be related to a genetic curse that seeks relief through a specific ritual. I am sending you these pages with my most trusted messenger.

They are not practices accepted by the Church, but in my despair I have found some relief in them. Blood calls to blood. Life can renew what death corrupts. Your loyal cousin, Leopold Wilhelm of Habsburg. The messenger departed for Madrid carrying documents containing forbidden knowledge, pagan rituals adapted with a Christian veneer to make them acceptable to the extremely Catholic Spanish court.

What neither of them knew was that these texts concealed practices that, if discovered, could be considered heresy by the Inquisition. The letter reached King Philip just as the royal physicians were facing a new crisis. Despite all treatments, Prince Charles’s odor had suddenly intensified, coinciding with an inexplicable fever that kept him bedridden.

Doctor von Leiden had exhausted his resources and, for the first time in six years, feared for the heir’s life. In his desperation, the king summoned Ana Maria to his private chambers, an unheard-of act for a woman of her position. Miss Hernandez, Doctor von Leiden speaks highly of your skills and knowledge, said the monarch, his face showing the weariness of a sleepless night.

My cousin, Archduke Leopold, has sent these documents. They contain unorthodox practices. Ana Maria took the papers with trembling hands. He wishes me to study them, Your Majesty. I wish you to save my son, replied Philip, his voice breaking with emotion. As king, I cannot officially authorize these practices.

As a father, I will do whatever is necessary. Ana Maria nodded, understanding the monarch’s dilemma. I will study these documents immediately, Your Majesty, and if I find anything that can help the prince, I will implement it at my own risk. The crown will protect you, of course, added the king.

But we must be discreet. The Inquisition has eyes and ears everywhere. That very night, Ana Maria locked herself in her small laboratory within the palace. The documents sent by the archduke described blood renewal rituals based on ancient pagan practices from Eastern Europe.

The basic premise was that new blood could purify corrupt blood if a ceremonial exchange was performed under certain conditions. By candlelight, Ana Maria studied the texts with a mixture of scientific fascination and religious reverence. As the daughter of an apothecary educated in the empirical tradition, she recognized elements that might have a medical basis.

As a Spaniard raised in the Catholic faith, she shuddered at the ritual aspects that bordered on heresy. Finally, after hours of analysis, she reached a conclusion. She would adapt the procedure, eliminating the pagan elements and focusing on what might have a scientific basis.

She would need fresh blood from a healthy donor, preferably young and unrelated to the Habsburgs, which would be mixed with specific herbs before being administered to the prince. The risk was enormous. If the procedure failed, she would not only lose favor but could face accusations of witchcraft or even an attempt on the heir’s life.

If it succeeded, however, it could alleviate the suffering of the young prince and ensure the continuity of the dynasty. With determination, Ana Maria began to prepare what was necessary. The fate of the child, who had smelled of death since birth, was now, at least partially, in her hands.

The night chosen for the procedure was dark and moonless, as if the sky itself wished to conceal what was about to occur in the depths of the royal palace. Ana Maria had carefully selected this date, not out of superstition, but for practicality. It coincided with the absence of most of the courtiers, who had departed for the religious rites.

In a small chamber adjacent to the prince’s apartments, Ana Maria had arranged everything necessary. An oak table covered with a white cloth held glass vials containing herbal extracts, small silver knives, the metal which, according to the archduke’s texts, least interfered with the properties of the blood, and several glazed ceramic containers.

Doctor von Leiden observed with a grave expression as Ana Maria made the final preparations. The Austrian doctor had agreed to participate after much deliberation, finally convinced by the prince’s deteriorating condition and the king’s tacit approval. He asked quietly, Are you sure about this, Miss Hernandez? What you propose goes beyond known medicine.

Ana Maria adjusted the wick of an oil lamp before answering. I am not sure of anything, Doctor, but I have studied the texts sent by the archduke and eliminated everything that seemed like mere superstition. What remains has a certain medical logic, however rudimentary.

And the donor, von Leiden inquired, looking toward the closed door. He will arrive any moment, she replied. I have chosen someone young, healthy, and with no connection to the royal house. As if he had been summoned by her words, a soft knock sounded on the door.

Ana Maria took a deep breath before opening the door, revealing a young man in his early twenties, tall and of robust build, with his face partially hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. It was Diego de Velazquez, now the official court painter and a trusted friend of Ana Maria since their youth in Lavapies.

He bowed respectfully toward Doctor von Leiden. When Ana Maria explained the prince’s situation to me, I could not refuse, said the artist, taking off his hat. If my blood can help the heir to Spain, it is a small price to pay for the honor the crown has bestowed upon me.

Von Leiden studied the young painter with a clinical eye, noting his clear and healthy skin, his agile movements, and the intelligence that shone in his eyes. An excellent donor, he murmured almost to himself. Ana Maria proceeded to explain the procedure with methodical calm, as if she were describing the preparation of a common medicine and not a ritual adapted from forbidden texts.

I will draw a small amount of blood from your arm, Diego. I will mix it with these extracts and finally we will administer it to the prince through a superficial incision in his forearm. In this way, the process must be completed before the blood clots.

Will it hurt, asked a child’s voice from the door that connected to the royal apartments. The three adults turned around in surprise. Prince Charles, in his nightgown and with a face pale from fever, watched them with eyes shining with curiosity.

Your Highness, you should be resting, said von Leiden, quickly approaching to lead him back to bed. I do not want to rest, the boy replied with unexpected firmness. I want to know what you are going to do to me. Ana Maria exchanged a glance with the doctor before approaching the prince and kneeling down to be at his level.

We are going to try a new treatment, Your Highness. It is experimental, but we believe it could help with your condition. Carlos nodded as if this confirmed something he already knew. Will you be using blood, he asked, pointing to the instruments on the table.

Yes, Your Highness, Ana Maria replied, deciding that honesty was the best approach. A small amount of Mister Velazquez’s blood mixed with medicinal herbs. The prince studied the painter with interest. You are Velazquez, the one who painted my father’s portrait on horseback. Diego bowed.

His Highness Carlos himself approached the artist with hesitant steps. Maria says that you have hands blessed by God. Perhaps your blood is too. This comment, uttered with the innocence of a child, but with a seriousness inappropriate for his age, caused a momentary silence in the room.

Ana Maria felt a chill run down her spine. In a way, the prince had grasped the essence of what they were trying to do, a transfer not only of blood, but of vitality, of health, almost like a blessing. Okay, said Doctor von Leiden finally, regaining his professional composure.

If His Highness is awake, it might be best to proceed now. The fever has temporarily subsided, which is favorable for the procedure. The prince was settled into a bed with pillows strategically placed to support his fragile body. Diego sat on a stool beside her, rolling up his shirt sleeves to expose his arm.

Ana Maria worked with precise movements, heating the instruments over a candle flame to purify them, as she had learned from her father. You will feel a prick, Mister Velazquez, she warned as she applied a mixture of alcohol and herbs to cleanse the painter’s skin.

Diego nodded, his eyes fixed on the process. As an artist, he had a natural interest in technical procedures, even those so far removed from his own discipline. Ana Maria made a clean incision in the painter’s forearm, collecting the oozing blood in a small ceramic bowl.

She added drops of various herbal mixtures, mentally reciting the proportions she had studied in the archduke’s papers. Meanwhile, Doctor von Leiden prepared the prince’s arm, explaining each step in a soft voice to keep him calm. Does it hurt a lot, Carlos asked Diego, watching the blood flowing from his arm.

No more than a scratch on a canvas, the painter replied with an encouraging smile. I have suffered worse wounds mixing pigments for your father. This answer seemed to please the prince, who nodded with an air of complicity. When the mixture was ready, Ana Maria heated it slightly over the oil lamp.

The liquid, now a darker red and with a peculiar shine, gave off an aroma that partially counteracted the prince’s characteristic smell. We are ready, she announced, approaching with the bowl and a small silver knife. Carlos extended his arm without hesitation, with a confidence that moved those present.

Ana Maria made a shallow incision, just enough for a few drops of blood to appear, and then applied the mixture directly to the wound, allowing both blood streams to merge. Von Leiden watched with clinical attention, while Diego, now with a bandage on his own arm, contemplated the scene with the concentrated gaze he used when studying a subject to portray him.

Now we must wait, said Ana Maria, carefully bandaging the prince’s arm. The following hours passed in a tense vigil. The prince, surprisingly, showed no signs of immediate discomfort, but fell into a deep sleep shortly after the procedure. Von Leiden constantly monitored his vital signs while Ana Maria prepared infusions to keep everyone awake and alert.

It is fascinating, Diego commented softly, sitting by the window, where he was absentmindedly sketching in a small notebook. In my art, I mix pigments to create something new. You have mixed blood seeking the same effect. The comparison is poetic but inaccurate, von Leiden replied with a slight smile.

The human body is far more complex than any canvas and far more mysterious, Ana Maria added, observing the sleeping prince. What we are doing is as much about faith as it is about science. At that moment, Carlos stirred in his sleep, murmuring unintelligible words.

The three adults tensed up, prepared for any adverse reaction. However, when the prince opened his eyes, there was a clarity in them that they had not seen for weeks. I am hungry, he declared simply, sitting up with more energy than he had shown in days.

Von Leiden approached quickly, expertly palpating his forehead. The fever is gone, she announced with barely concealed astonishment. Ana Maria also approached, noticing something even more extraordinary. The odor has diminished considerably. The three exchanged cautiously hopeful glances.

Was it possible that the procedure had worked, or was this simply a temporary improvement like so many others they had witnessed over the years? The following weeks confirmed what seemed impossible. The treatment had had a significant effect. The prince’s distinctive odor, while not entirely gone, had been reduced to a level that could be easily masked with ordinary perfumes.

His overall health had improved remarkably, displaying a vigor that surprised even the most optimistic. King Philip, informed of the procedure’s success, summoned Ana Maria for a private audience. The young pharmacist, now elevated to the rank of Special Physician to His Royal Highness, a position created specifically for her, presented herself with the same modesty that had always characterized her.

You have achieved what the best doctors in Europe considered impossible, declared the monarch, studying her with a penetrating gaze. The Crown of Spain is indebted to you. I have only applied knowledge that others discovered before, Your Majesty, replied Ana Maria, bowing her head.

And the credit also belongs to Doctor von Leiden and Mister Velazquez. Velazquez will receive additional commissions and an increase in his pension, affirmed the king. Von Leiden has been appropriately rewarded. As for you, Felipe paused, considering her words. I understand that the treatment will need to be repeated periodically.

Yes, Your Majesty, according to our observations, the effects last approximately one month. Afterward, the odor begins to intensify again. The king nodded as if this confirmation aligned with his own conclusions. Then, your presence at court will be required indefinitely. I will grant you a minor title of nobility to facilitate your position and avoid gossip.

Countess of Lavapies. Sounds appropriate, does it not? Ana Maria suppressed her surprise. A title of nobility was something she had never imagined for herself, the daughter of a simple apothecary. It is an undeserved honor, Your Majesty. On the contrary, replied the king, it is barely enough to ensure the continuity of the dynasty.

He added with an almost imperceptible smile, My son seems to hold you in high esteem. He asks about you constantly. This last remark did not surprise Ana Maria. Since the procedure, she had established a special relationship with the young prince, who sought her out not only for his treatments but also for conversations about herbs, natural sciences, and even for stories to be read to him.

In a way, she had become a maternal figure for the boy, whose real mother, Queen Elizabeth, maintained the formal distance typical of royalty with her children. He is an extraordinary child, Your Majesty, she replied sincerely. His intelligence and dignity are admirable, especially considering the difficulties he has faced.

The king seemed pleased with this answer. When Charles reaches maturity and fully understands his condition, he will need loyal allies, people who have known him not only as a prince, but as the child he is now. Ana Maria understood the implicit message.

Her role went beyond simply being a treatment provider. She was becoming part of the inner circle that would protect the future king. Time passed, and with each passing month, the procedure was repeated with minor variations. Diego de Velazquez continued to be the main donor, also establishing an artistic tutor relationship with the prince, who showed a certain inclination for drawing.

Von Leiden supervised each session, meticulously documenting the effects and adjusting the proportions of the herbal mixtures as needed. By the time Carlos turned ten, the treatment had become such a routine in palace life that few remembered the intensity of the smell that had once defined the prince.

The courtiers attributed the improvement to the child’s natural maturation or to Doctor von Leiden’s conventional treatments, ignorant of the monthly ritual that was performed in the strictest privacy. However, the tranquility was interrupted when an unexpected event shook the foundations of the Spanish court.

During a diplomatic visit, Archduke Leopold Wilhelm, the king’s cousin and original author of the documents that had inspired the treatment, requested a private audience with the monarch and the prince. In an exclusive room, with only von Leiden and Ana Maria present as medical advisors, the archduke observed the young Charles with almost predatory intensity.

The blood test has worked, he finally declared, addressing the king. The child has a good color and the smell is barely perceptible. My congratulations, cousin. Philip bowed his head in thanks, though his expression remained cautious. Your documents were invaluable, Leopold. The Spanish crown is indebted to you.

Leopold made a dismissive gesture with his hand. We are family, Philip. We Habsburgs must help each other survive our peculiarities. Turning to Ana Maria, the archduke studied her curiously. So you are the apothecary who adapted my texts. Impressive, especially for a woman. However, he added in a lower voice, I suspect you have eliminated crucial aspects of the ritual.

I adapted the procedure to make it compatible with modern medicine, Your Excellency, Ana Maria replied firmly. The ceremonial elements seemed unnecessary. Leopold smiled. A smile that did not reach his eyes. Rituals are never unnecessary, my dear Countess. They are the language with which we speak to forces older than our understanding.

This remark provoked an awkward silence. Von Leiden cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. The Prince has responded exceptionally well to the treatment, the doctor reported. His physical and intellectual development is on par with any child his age and even superior in some respects.

And the donor, asked Leopold abruptly. Is he still the same? Yes, Your Excellency, von Leiden replied. The painter Velazquez has proven to be ideal for this purpose. The archduke frowned. A mistake. You should rotate the donors. The blood adapts. It loses its effectiveness.

Carlos, who had remained silent observing the exchange, suddenly spoke. I like Mister Velazquez’s blood. It makes me feel strong. Leopold turned to the child, studying him with renewed interest. Of course, young prince. An artist’s blood is full of life and creativity, but eventually you will need something more potent.

Ana Maria felt a chill at these words and the look that accompanied them. There was something about the archduke that deeply unsettled her, a quality that went beyond aristocratic eccentricity. That night, while preparing the herbs for the next treatment in her laboratory, she received an unexpected visit.

Leopold Wilhelm, accompanied only by a silent servant who remained at the door, entered her workspace unannounced. The Countess greeted him with a minimal bow. Excuse the intrusion, but I wanted to speak with you privately. Ana Maria tensed up, aware of the inappropriateness of the situation, but too cautious to point it out.

How can I be of service, Your Excellency? Leopold approached, examining the flasks and preparations arranged on his work table. You have done an admirable job with the prince, truly admirable, but incomplete. Incomplete, she repeated, maintaining her composure.

The texts I sent contained specific instructions about the entire ceremony, the archduke explained, taking a vial and examining it by the lamplight. Instructions that you have apparently deliberately ignored. I adapted the procedure to acceptable medical practices, Your Excellency, Ana Maria replied firmly.

And the results have been satisfactory. Satisfactory. Leopold let out a brief, humorless laugh. You have managed to suppress the symptoms, not cure the disease. Genetic necrosis is still there, dormant, but not defeated. Ana Maria kept her gaze steady. So what would you suggest?

Leopold moved closer, so close that Ana Maria could perceive his body odor, strangely similar to that which had once characterized the prince, but with a different, almost sweetish nuance. The painter’s blood has served us well until now, he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. But for a true cure you need a more special blood. Innocent blood.

Ana Maria instinctively stepped back. What are you suggesting, Your Excellency? Nothing that has not been done before for the survival of our dynasty, Leopold replied with unsettling calm. A small sacrifice for a greater good. The blood of a child, offered voluntarily by his parents in exchange for riches and titles, could cure the prince permanently.

The horror that Ana Maria felt must have been reflected on her face, because Leopold smiled with something akin to indulgence. I see that the idea disturbs you. You are young and do not yet understand the needs of great lineages, but think about it, Countess, a single sacrifice to ensure the future of Spain and all of Europe.

I would never participate in something like that, Ana Maria replied, her voice trembling slightly with indignation. And Her Majesty would never allow it. Are you sure, Leopold asked, raising an eyebrow. Felipe is a king, but also a desperate father. Kings have done worse things for their heirs.

Before Ana Maria could answer, the door burst open. Diego de Velazquez, pale but determined, entered the room followed by two royal guards. His Majesty requests your presence immediately, Your Excellency, the painter announced with tense formality. Leopold studied the newcomers with an impassive expression.

Of course, we should not keep my royal cousin waiting. As the archduke withdrew, escorted by the guards, Diego approached Ana Maria. Are you okay, he asked in a low voice, abandoning the formal protocol they normally maintained in public. Ana Maria nodded, although her hands were still trembling.

How did you know? The prince, Diego replied. The archduke spoke to him after the meeting. Carlos did not understand everything, but enough to become alarmed. He came to find me immediately. This revelation surprised Ana Maria. The young prince whom everyone was trying to protect had ended up protecting her.

We must speak with the king, she decided. The archduke’s suggestions are monstrous. Diego nodded gravely. He has already been informed. That is why he has summoned Leopold. That same night, Archduke Leopold Wilhelm left the Spanish court with an escort that looked more like a guard than an honor.

The incident was never officially mentioned, but the grateful looks the king gave Ana Maria and Diego in the following days spoke for themselves. What no one could imagine was that this seemingly concluded episode would have consequences that would extend far beyond the palace walls, affecting not only the future of the prince who smelled of death, but the very destiny of the Habsburg dynasty in Spain.

Two years later, when Carlos was celebrating his twelfth birthday, a new challenge emerged. Diego de Velazquez, after years as a regular donor, began to show signs of weakening. Nothing serious or alarming, but enough for von Leiden to express his concern.

The constant blood draws are affecting his health, the doctor explained to Ana Maria as they reviewed the latest results of the prince’s treatment. We need to find an alternative, or at least complementary, donor. The archduke had suggested rotating donors, Ana Maria recalled reluctantly.

Even if his motives were questionable, he might have been right in that respect. The problem, von Leiden replied, is finding someone suitable. It must be a healthy person, with no blood relation to the Habsburgs, and absolutely trustworthy. Ana Maria considered the problem silently.

The solution was obvious, though neither dared to articulate it. Finally, she spoke. I could be the alternative donor. Von Leiden looked at her for a long time before answering. It is a possibility I had considered. Your health is excellent, and you are certainly trustworthy.

However, you are a woman, Ana Maria added with a wry smile. That does not worry me from a medical perspective, the doctor clarified. But it could complicate the situation from a court point of view. You know how rumors are. Ana Maria understood perfectly.

As a single woman whose relationship with the prince was already the subject of some speculation, despite her title and official position, becoming a blood relative would establish an even more intimate connection. The prince’s health would be paramount, she finally decided. I will speak with His Majesty personally.

King Philip, after hearing the proposal, was pragmatic. If Doctor von Leiden approves it from a medical point of view, I see no objection. As for the rumors, you will know about them regardless of what we do. The crown will protect you as it always has.

Thus began a new phase in the prince’s treatment. Diego continued as the main donor, but Ana Maria contributed regularly, allowing the painter to recover between sessions. Surprisingly, this combination seemed to have an even more positive effect on Carlos, whose health and vigor reached levels never seen before.

The prince, now on the threshold of adolescence, was developing a complex and fascinating personality. He possessed the dignity and composure that had characterized him since childhood, but he also displayed a voracious intellectual curiosity and a genuine interest in the arts and sciences.

Under Velazquez’s tutelage, he had progressed remarkably in drawing and painting, while Ana Maria’s lessons on botany and natural medicine complemented his formal education. In private, Carlos had begun to refer to them as his true family. A comment that, had it been heard by less discreet ears, would have caused a scandal in the court.

For the young prince, the bond formed through years of treatments and intimate conversations was more meaningful than the formal and distant relationships he maintained with most members of the royal family. One day, while Ana Maria was preparing an infusion in the small laboratory, which now occupied a permanent space in the prince’s wing, Carlos entered unannounced.

A custom that had become commonplace. Have you ever wondered if we are really who we think we are, he asked without preamble, sitting down on a stool in front of her. Ana Maria looked at her creation curiously. At age twelve, Carlos was still of slender build, but he had lost the fragility of his childhood.

His face, with the distinctive Habsburg chin, showed a maturity uncharacteristic of his age. That is a profound question, Your Highness. What led you to ask it? Carlos played absentmindedly with an empty jar. I have been reading about blood, about how it carries the essence of who we are.

You and Diego have been giving me your blood for years. Does that not mean that I am now partly you? Ana Maria felt a chill at the perspicacity of the comment. They had never openly discussed the philosophical or spiritual implications of the treatment.

Blood transports nutrients and oxygen, Your Highness, she replied carefully. It is fundamental to life, but it does not define who we are. Your character, your thoughts, your decisions. That is what defines you as a person. But before, I used to smell like death, Carlos insisted with the direct frankness that only a child could afford.

Now I smell different, better, as if death had moved away from me. Does that not mean I have fundamentally changed? Ana Maria considered her answer. The prince deserved honesty. Have you changed physically? Yes, the treatment has altered certain aspects of your constitution, but your essence, what makes you Charles Balthazar of Habsburg, remains intact.

The prince seemed to reflect on this. Sometimes I dream of places I have never visited, workshops full of canvases and paintings, or gardens with herbs I can name, even though I have never studied them. It is your memories seeping into me.

This confession left Ana Maria momentarily speechless. The archduke’s texts had mentioned the possibility of transferring essences, but she had dismissed that idea as superstition. There might be some truth to it. Dreams are mysterious, Your Highness, she finally replied. Our mind combines fragments of what we see, hear, and experience, creating images that can resemble memories.

Carlos looked at her with an intensity that was almost unsettling. You are not answering my question. I am asking you if I am now partly you and partly Diego. Ana Maria held his gaze. If you are asking whether the treatment has created a special bond between us, the answer is yes, but not because you are any less yourself, but because we have contributed to your health and well-being in a unique way.

This seemed to satisfy the prince, who nodded slowly. I like that answer. It means I will never truly be alone, even when I am king and everyone bows down to me, but no one speaks to me honestly. These words, spoken simply but imbued with a premature wisdom and loneliness, deeply moved Ana Maria.

The child who smelled of death from birth had grown up understanding the burdens of his true destiny, with a clarity that many adults would never achieve. You will always have people who speak to you honestly, Your Highness, she promised, impulsively taking the prince’s hand. Diego and I will be by your side as long as you need us.

Carlos smiled. A genuine smile lit up his youthful face. I know. It is the only thing I am completely sure of in this world of masks and lies. That moment of genuine connection was etched in Ana Maria’s memory as a turning point.

The treatment that had begun as a desperate attempt to save the life of a sick prince had evolved into something far more significant. It had created bonds that transcended the barriers of class and protocol, forging an alliance that would shape not only the prince’s future, but that of Spain itself.

What neither of them could have foreseen was that those bonds would soon be tested, in ways that not even Archduke Leopold’s forbidden texts had anticipated.