Pain pulls me back into awareness as my mind floats in the soft gray space between sleep and waking. It drifts slowly upward from somewhere deep. A dull, pulsing ache that spreads outward like ripples in dark water.
The faint scent of herbs surrounds me: crushed mint, dried sage, and something bitter and medicinal stings the back of my throat. I’m wrapped beneath layers of bandages. My shoulder throbs and when I try to move, sharp pain travels across my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs.
When I open my eyes, the ceiling above me is unfamiliar stone rather than the wooden beams of Dain and Lyrea’s cottage. Morning light spills through a narrow window across the way. The air is cool, and thick blankets are draped over me as I lie in bed.
The fog slowly clears from my mind and memories come flooding in of the Ogres, the roar of battle in the streets, and Ailyn clinging to me in terror. They tumble together in a chaotic blur of sound, fear, and pain.
The last thing I remember is the look of devastation on Auren’s face as the darkness closed in around me.
My heart gives a painful lurch. I push myself up to sitting, and a sharp cry escapes me as agony flares through my ribs.
“Easy,” a gentle voice sounds from nearby.
I blink and turn my head to find a Dark Elf woman beside the bed, her dark hair braided neatly down her back. The table beside her is cluttered with small jars and bowls filled with crushed leaves and glowing tinctures.
“I’m Healer Meryl. You’re in the Fortress of Caer Aetheryn. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.” She rests a hand on my arm. “You mustn’t try to move too quickly.”
My throat feels raw and dry, as though I’ve been shouting for hours. “Is Ailyn alright,” I whisper hoarsely.
The healer’s expression softens immediately. “The child is unharmed,” she assures me. “She’s with her parents. Your actions saved her life.”
“Thank the gods,” I murmur. My gaze drifts instinctively toward the door. “Where’s Auren?”
“He stepped out for a moment, but he should be back shortly.” A faint smile crests her lips. “He’s been beside himself with worry. He’s barely slept or eaten anything since you’ve been here, refusing to leave your side.”
Warmth spreads through my chest as I recall how he saved us. He came for me. He always does.
“You were fortunate,” the healer says, studying my bandages. “The venom from a Fire Wolf’s claws can be fatal. Only Dire Wolves are immune to their toxin. But your body seems to be tolerating the antidote well. With a little time and rest, you should fully recover soon.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
My gaze drifts toward the small window again as I remember the terrible battle. I push myself a little higher against the pillows despite the protest that flares along my ribs. “The Ogres... did they—”
“They’ve been defeated.” The healer reassures me as she reaches for a small bowl beside the bed, dipping a cloth into the cool water before pressing it to my brow. The touch is soothing, the faint scent of herbs rising from the cloth. “Our warriors drove them back into the forest.”
At the mention of warriors, I think again of Auren, and I glance again at the door, wondering where he is.
The healer watches me for a moment, something thoughtful flickering across her expression before she nods to herself. “I’ll go fetch the king,” she says, rising from her chair. “He asked to be told the moment you woke.”
The king.I recall Auren telling me his king was interested in me at the ball. At the time, I brushed it off, but now, my fingers tighten on the blanket as the memory curls uneasily in my thoughts.
A king can take whatever he wishes.
My hands begin to tremble. “I—wait,” I call out, but the healer is already in the hallway.
“I’ll send him in at once,” she assures me, closing the door behind her.
My pulse begins to race as my thoughts spiral.What if the king has decided he wants me as his bride?
Auren is brave. Stronger than any man I’ve ever known, but he is still only a soldier.
And a king… a king can take whatever he desires. The thought sends a cold shiver sliding down my spine.
The door creaks open. Auren stands framed in the entry, the light from the corridor outlining the familiar shape of him. His dark hair hangs loose across his forehead, and shadows lingerbeneath his eyes as though sleep has been a stranger to him since the battle ended.
For the briefest heartbeat, he stands frozen in place. When his eyes meet mine, he rushes forward, crossing the room in three long strides.
