Chapter 7 — Five Seconds

 

Elara Veyne

“Making you an offer that will probably keep you from dying.”

For a few seconds, the prince said nothing.

He remained seated near the window, the black iron wolf mask turned toward me. I still wore the veil from my service uniform, and his gaze lingered on the small strip of my face left uncovered.

Then he looked away.

“Open the door.”

“I don’t think Your Highness understood.”

“I understood perfectly. Open it and leave before I call the guards.”

That irritated me more than it should have.

I had crossed the continent, entered a foreign palace, deceived two lupine guards, and locked myself inside the chambers of Azhareth’s most protected man.

And he was dismissing me without even looking properly.

“You’re quite rude for a prince.”

The mask turned back.

“What did you say?”

“Especially one who’s on the verge of death.”

That finally got his attention.

“You have impressive courage for someone locked in a room with me.”

“Considering your current condition, I thought my chances were reasonable.”

Perhaps not my most diplomatic answer.

The prince rested one hand on the arm of the chair.

“Five seconds. Then I call the guards.”

“I’m going to need more than that.”

“Four.”

Damn it.

It was clear that words wouldn't do any good; I would have to show him in person.

“I heard dozens of doctors, priests, and healers have tried to treat you.”

“Three.”

“And they all failed.”

“Two.”

I picked up the small knife beside the tray.

The prince moved immediately.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“This isn’t for you.”

I ran the blade along my palm.

Blood appeared.

Kian went still.

“What is wrong with you?”

I raised my other hand.

White-gold light spread over the wound. The skin closed before his eyes until no scar remained.

He forgot to count the last second.

His eyes stayed fixed on my hand.

Then warmth gathered beneath my nose.

Direct healing always demanded more from me. Apparently proving a point to an arrogant prince was no exception.

He tilted his head, trying to see beneath the veil.

“You’re bleeding.”

I touched my nose. My fingers came away red.

“Looks like it.”

“What kind of healing was that?”

“The kind that might be useful to someone everyone considers incurable.”

His arrogance remained, but now there was interest beneath it.

“Show me your hand.”

I stepped closer and held it out.

No mark.

His gaze moved from my palm back to my eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Someone with a proposal.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I didn’t come here to make introductions.”

His fingers tightened against the chair.

“I can’t promise to cure you without knowing what’s wrong.”

A mocking laugh came from beneath the mask.

“People who studied medicine for decades couldn’t determine that.”

“And they failed.”

“Are you comparing yourself to them?”

“No. I’m pointing out the result.”

I stopped directly in front of him.

Up close, his clothes could not hide how thin he was. The fabric hung too loosely from his shoulders, making it difficult to reconcile him with everything I had heard about the Varesh bloodline.

I reached toward the mask.

His hand shot up and closed around my wrist before I touched it.

He trembled, but his grip was stronger than I expected.

For a man who supposedly had never manifested even a trace of the Varesh wolf, his reflexes were remarkably fast.

“Don’t touch me.”

“If I wanted to assassinate you, locking the door with your guards outside would be a terrible strategy.”

“You entered my chambers without permission.”

“Technically, I brought your supper.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

He didn’t let go.

Again, his eyes moved over my face and stopped at the veil.

I sighed.

“Take the mask off yourself, then. Or keep hiding your illness from the person offering treatment. Your choice.”

He remained still for a moment before releasing me.

I took that as permission.

The mask came away slowly.

Dark lesions covered his jaw and cheek. There were inflamed patches, irregular scars, and marks spreading beneath the skin. Yet the strong structure of his face was still visible beneath the damage.

Nothing about him looked lupine.

No sharpened features. No visible indication of the transformation everyone claimed had never come.

He simply looked terribly ill.

And he was watching me as though waiting for disgust.

“I thought it would be worse.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“A woman at the ball said the flesh was falling off your face. The rumors were exaggerated.”

For the first time, he looked more confused than angry.

I brought my fingers toward one of the lesions.

“I’m going to test something.”

“Wait—”

My blessing was already active.

White-gold light flowed into his skin.

He held his breath.

The inflammation faded. Damaged tissue began repairing itself beneath my fingers.

For a moment, everything worked exactly as expected.

Then I saw the color beneath his skin.

Black.

Red.

Thin threads surfaced under my palm, dragged outward by my mana like smoke trapped inside flesh.

“What is—”

The threads touched my fingers.

Cold pain tore through my hand and raced up my arm.

I stumbled, but my palm remained against his face.

Blood soaked rapidly into my veil.

“What’s happening?”

The red-black threads began climbing my fingertips through the same channels my blessing used.

I stopped.

Kian inhaled sharply.

Then his eyes widened.

His hand closed over mine and pressed it back against his face.

“Continue.”

I tried to pull away.

Even sick, he was strong.

“No.”

“Your healing is working. Continue.”

There was no mockery now.

Only urgency.

“That’s an order.”

“I SAID NO!”

For one terrible instant, I was back in a Caldris laboratory.

Hands holding me in place.

Gideon ordering me to continue while my body failed.

Kian went still.

“The pain stopped,” he said.

That pulled me back.

His grip had changed.

Less command now.

Almost desperation.

“Don’t stop yet.”

For a moment, I understood.

Maybe he had spent so many years in pain that he no longer remembered what its absence felt like.

And I had just given him a few seconds without it.

But the black threads still clung to my fingers.

I pulled my hand away.

“If I continue without knowing what this is, there may be two people dying in this room.”

Dizziness washed over me.

Kian stared at my hand.

“What is that?”

The dark residue was already dissolving as my mana tried to expel it.

It did not behave like disease.

Something was interfering directly with the flow of his mana.

More disturbing, it seemed less interested in destroying him than in keeping something inside him from functioning.

From emerging.

The distinction was strange enough that I stored it away.

“It looks like poison.”

He became completely still.

“Poison?”

A violent blow struck the door.

“Your Highness!”

Another impact made the wood tremble.

“Your Highness, answer us!”

I looked back at Kian.

The iron wolf mask lay forgotten on the table. The patch of skin I had treated was visibly different.

He was still staring at me.

For the first time, I saw something beyond arrogance and distrust.

Shock.

The shock of someone who had spent years believing there was no way out and had just discovered he might have been wrong.

The guards struck the door again.

The lock groaned.

Kian looked toward it, then back at me.

And this time, he did not look remotely willing to let them take me away.