Chapter Five

Aedan

I leaned against the doorframe in silence. My eyes followed patiently as the two healers approached her. They were seasoned women, their hands tempered into gentleness by tending to hundreds of wounds. I did not move. But my body was taut, like a forest before a storm: still, yet every leaf quivering, waiting for the first strike of lightning.

Nyra sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a blanket. In her gray-blue eyes flickered the shadows of her past, panic lingering in every breath, every twitch. I could see how every nerve in her rebelled against touch — even if these women came not to harm, but to heal. Every cell in her longed to run — and yet she stayed. She stayed in my shadow. With the first fragile shoot of trust in her soul.

“Little one, we must cleanse your wounds,” said Galena, the elder healer. Her voice brushed the air so softly, as if afraid that a single harsh note might shatter her. “With warm water and herbs. It will not hurt, I promise.”

Nyra trembled, then nodded. The movement was barely perceptible, yet it was enough.

In the wooden basin floated petals: lavender, marigold, arnica. The clean fragrance filled the room, washing away the stench of the prison, whispering the promise of a new beginning. The healers never touched her without asking first. Every motion was preceded by words — words that built a bridge to her wary heart.

“Now we are only loosening the fabric,” said Galena. “We will not harm you.”

Nyra flinched but did not retreat. Slowly, trembling, she allowed the tattered garment to be peeled away. The blanket was carefully tucked around her, leaving exposed only what was necessary. Warm cloths pressed gently against her skin.

“Your shoulder… I’m only cleansing it.”

“Your back… it will not hurt.”

I watched in silence. I saw every tension: the tightening of muscle, the shuddering breaths, the inner battle waged against the shadows of her past with each passing moment. And within me burned a vow, solid as stone: whatever the world demanded, whatever the cost, I would never again allow anyone to make her look around with such terror. Not while I drew breath.

Again and again the cloths dipped into the water, wiping away not only dirt, blood, the lash’s trace — but fragments of the past as well. When they reached her back, the wounds pulsed red with pain. Even my own stomach clenched. Galena sighed softly.

“Who could have done this…?” she whispered to herself.

I did not answer. My gaze was the reply. The fury I did not unleash hung hot in the air around me.

When the cleansing was done, they brought out ointments: fragrant, thick balms, laced with herbs to ease pain, to cleanse, to heal. Each wound received its own care, as if each touch spoke to her skin: There will be no more pain.

At last Galena lifted a small vial. The room filled with the scent of mint, sage, lemon balm.

“This is a draught for pain,” she said. “It will help you rest. But I will only give it if you wish it.”

Nyra nodded slowly. Fragile, but with something to hold to. Galena held the cup with both hands. The girl drank in small, hesitant sips, yet obedient. I watched her eyelids grow heavy, her shoulders — for the first time since I had known her — ease a little. When she sank back onto the pillows, her breath steadying into a calm rhythm, I straightened as well.

This was no victory. No triumph. Only the beginning. The greatest battle still lay before us: the wounds of the past. But tonight, we had won a small triumph. Nyra slept. And it was not from fear — but from trust.

⸻

Aedan

I sat beside her on a hard wooden chair. Leaning forward, as though my body itself could shield her. Every sense of mine attuned to her. My heart matched the rhythm of her breath.

But sleep was not kind. Her body tensed, her fingers clutched the sheets. Faint moans escaped her throat, growing sharper, ragged. The instinct to leap up, to seize her, to protect her surged through me — but I restrained myself. I could not yet touch her. I could not yet break through the wall behind which she trembled, guarding her fragile trust.

The door clicked. Cassian entered, closing it silently behind him. He saw her tossing beneath the blanket. Nyra’s legs kicked, as if fleeing something only she could see in the dark. She panted, and suddenly a desperate sob broke free.

“No… please… don’t hurt me…” she whispered, broken, then cried out as if even in dreams she fought.

My fists clenched against my knees. Every muscle strained. The instinct to intervene struck like a hammer. But I knew: patience was my weapon now.

Cassian stepped closer.

“The people murmur,” he said quietly. “Rowan’s loyalists stir. Not all look kindly upon the new queen… an omega.”

I glanced at him. My eyes burned with dark gold.

“If they dislike it, they may leave. There is no place for them in this world.”

Nyra sobbed in her sleep. Trembled beneath the blanket, wept, and the room filled with the weight of hopelessness. Even Cassian fell silent. Even he, hardened warrior though he was, lowered his gaze.

I raised my hand. Hesitated. Then lowered it. I could not force her. I could not drag her back to life. Only my voice remained.

“Nyra…” I whispered. Her name. Soft, gentle, like summer wind through trees. “You don’t have to be afraid. No one will hurt you. I am here.”

My words bridged the chasm of her dream. Slowly, her ragged breath eased. The past still pulsed within her, but my presence had made the first step toward healing.

Cassian withdrew with respect.

“The pack listens to you,” he said quietly. “But Rowan… he has not yielded.”

My gaze flashed cold.

“Tomorrow I will confront him. Before all. And if need be… I will end his treachery.”

Cassian nodded, then vanished. The door closed softly.

I remained. Sitting, arms crossed, keeping watch over her. Sweat beaded on her brow, but her breathing was steadier now. I sat in silence, unyielding. Like an ancient wolf who never abandons what is most precious.

One thought throbbed in my blood, in my instinct:

No one… ever again… will touch her, unless she wills it.

And I, Aedan, King of Lycans, swore in that silence:

I will protect her. Against all things.