Chapter 3 Untitled Chapter

Dawn comes too fast.

It always does here.

I barely slept if closing my eyes and bracing against every sound in the barracks counts as sleep but the moment the first light bleeds through the canvas, I’m already moving, already pulling the healer’s veil back into place, already forcing my body into the same controlled rhythm that kept me invisible yesterday.

Because yesterday was too close.

Because Rowan was seen.

Because he was there.

I step back into the tents with exhaustion dragging at my bones, sharp and relentless, but I don’t let it slow me down. I can’t afford to be slow. I can’t afford stillness. Stillness invites attention, and attention gets people killed.

Or worse.

So I moved.

From pallet to pallet, wound to wound, breath to breath.

Every wolf I heal is one less problem Kael has to personally oversee, one less reason for him to walk these rows again, one less chance for those eyes to land on me and linger.

My hands glow faintly under the cloth again, silver heat licking beneath my skin, and I push it harder today, faster, risking more than I should because the sooner these soldiers are on their feet, the sooner this place stops needing its king in the infirmary.

The sooner I can breathe.

But fate has never been kind to me.

I feel him before I see him again.

A shift.

A pull.

That same invisible chain tightening somewhere deep in my chest, yanking hard enough to make my breath hitch mid-motion as I press my palm to a soldier’s torn shoulder.

Don’t react.

Don’t look.

I keep my head down, but I catch glimpses anyway, stolen through movement, through reflection, through the way the entire space subtly bends around him.

Broad shoulders wrapped in dark fabric, tension coiled tight through every line of his body like he’s holding something back that wants to break loose. His jaw is clenched, sharper than I remember, and there’s something in his posture now, something restless, something off like he’s fighting a battle no one else can see.

Good.

Let him fight.

Let him choke on it.

He deserves that and worse.

I press harder into the wound beneath my hands, focusing on the tear of flesh knitting together, on the control it takes not to let the Moonfire flare too bright, too obvious.

But then

“My king.”

The voice isn’t mine.

It’s the soldier I just finished healing, struggling upright, awe threading through his exhaustion as Kael stops beside him.

I freeze for half a second too long.

“Easy,” Kael says, his voice lower today, roughened in a way that sends something unwelcome down my spine. “You’ll tear it open again.”

“I was told… I wouldn’t make it,” the soldier breathes.

A pause.

Then, “You have our healers to thank for proving that wrong.”

Our healers.

Not me.

Good.

Keep it that way.

But then his shadow shifts.

Closer.

Too close.

“And you,” he adds, and I know..I know..he’s speaking to me before I even look up.

I don’t want to.

I do anyway.

Just enough to be respectful.

Just enough to not draw suspicion.

“Your Grace.”

“Thank you for saving one of my elite guards.”

The words are simple, formal, but his gaze is not. It lingers in a way that feels wrong, like he’s trying to piece something together that keeps slipping through his fingers.

“Just doing my duty,” I reply, steady, empty.

Then I reach to adjust the bandage.

And his hand moves at the same time.

Our fingers brush.

Everything explodes.

It’s not a memory.

It’s not a thought.

It’s impact is violent and immediate, slamming into me from the inside out as the mate bond surges awake like it’s been waiting for this exact moment to drag me under.

The rose maze.

Darkness and moonlight tangled in petals.

His hands on me were firm, certain, like he had already decided I belonged to him before I even understood what was happening.

My back against stone, breath caught somewhere between fear and something far more dangerous as his mouth found my throat, heat and teeth and possession that burned straight through my skin into something deeper.

“Mine.”

The word echoes, low and rough, wrapped in a growl that had made my body betray me even then, even when I should have run, even when I should have known better.

And then

Morning.

Cold.

Empty.

Gone.

Like it never meant anything at all.

The force of it hits so hard I nearly lose control, my wolf surging forward with a snarl that claws at my ribs, rage and longing tangling into something unstable, something that wants to tear free right here in front of everyone.

No.

I rip my hand back like I’ve been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I whisper, too low for anyone else to hear, but sharp enough to cut.

For the first time

He reacts.

Not anger.

Not dominance.

Confusion.

It fractures his expression for a split second, real and unguarded, like my reaction doesn’t fit whatever image he’s built in his head, like something about me is wrong in a way he can’t explain.

Good.

Let him wonder.

I drop my gaze immediately, turning away before he can look too closely, before he can feel too much.

Before I do something stupid.

He doesn’t stop me.

But I feel it as he leaves the hesitation, the weight of his attention lingering just a second longer than it should.

That’s dangerous.

Everything about this is dangerous.

I throw myself back into work harder than before, faster, sharper, until my muscles ache and my vision blurs at the edges, until I can almost pretend that moment didn’t happen.

Almost.

“Careful.”

The voice is softer.

Gentler.

It doesn’t belong to him.

I glance up to find Darius Thornveil kneeling beside me, his presence a stark contrast to the storm I just walked out of. Where Kael is tension and force, Darius is steady, composed, his eyes kind in a way that makes something in my chest tighten for entirely different reasons.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he adds, noticing the way my hands tremble just slightly as I wrap a fresh bandage.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

A lie.

He notices.

He doesn’t call me on it.

Instead, he reaches for the edge of the cloth, helping secure it with careful precision, his movements respectful, measured, nothing like the overwhelming pull that still lingers under my skin from earlier.

“Still,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Because for a second

Just a second

I imagine what that would feel like.

Safety.

Support.

A place to rest without constantly watching the door.

It’s dangerous.

It’s tempting.

“I can arrange for you to stay under House Thornveil’s protection,” he continues, just as calm, just as sincere. “At least until the border wars settle. Healers are valuable, and you shouldn’t be left exposed in a place like this.”

My chest tightens.

He means it.

There’s no ulterior motive in his voice, no calculation, just genuine concern offered freely, and something sharp twists inside me because I don’t deserve it, because I don’t belong anywhere safe, because part of me

Part of me wants to say yes.

Not for survival.

Not even for comfort.

But because I know it would hurt Kael.

The thought is ugly.

It’s real.

I swallow it down.

“I’ll consider it,” I say instead, keeping my tone neutral, careful.

Darius nods, accepting that without pressure, without expectation, and somehow that makes it worse.

He stands, offering a final reassuring look before moving on to the next patient, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the echo of something I refuse to reach for.

I barely have time to steady myself before the air changes again.

Not like before.

Not heavy.

Not pulling.

This is something else.

Sharp.

Slick.

Poison wrapped in silk.

The entrance of the infirmary shifts as she walks in, and I don’t need to see her to know exactly who it is.

Lara Vexen.

Her presence cuts through the room like a blade, every movement deliberate, every step measured for effect as whispers ripple outward in her wake. She doesn’t belong in a place like this, surrounded by blood and sweat and desperation, but she wears it like a stage anyway.

I keep my head down.

Too late.

She stops in front of me.

Of course she does.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, healer.”

Her voice is smooth.

Sweet.

Deadly.

I look up slowly, meeting her gaze through the veil, and her smile widens just enough to show teeth.

Then her nose twitches slightly.

Her eyes sharpen.

And she tilts her head, studying me like something she’s almost recognized but can’t quite place.

“You smell…” she murmurs, soft and dangerous, “familiar.”