Chapter 5 – The King’s Wound

The morning after the feast, the pack’s training grounds buzzed with restless energy.

Word had spread: the Alpha King himself would be observing, perhaps even sparring with the warriors. It was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. Every wolf, young and old, crowded the edges of the grounds, straining to catch a glimpse.

Aria, summoned to tend to possible injuries, stood quietly at the fringe with her healer’s satchel. Her heart beat too quickly, though she told herself it was only because of the crowd. Only because the day promised chaos.

But when Kaelen entered the clearing, his presence slammed into her chest like a blow.

Clad in black training leathers, stripped of his heavy cloak, he looked even more formidable than he had at the feast. Broad shoulders, coiled muscles, movements sharp and predatory—he radiated lethal grace. His silver eyes swept across the field, and again, Aria felt that impossible pull, as if his gaze brushed over her even in the crowd.

Damian strutted forward, eager to impress. “My King, it is an honor to have you witness our warriors. We will demonstrate their skill.”

Kaelen’s expression barely shifted. “Demonstrations mean little. Skill shows in resistance, not display.”

And before anyone could respond, he stepped into the circle. “I will train with them.”

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The Alpha King sparring with common warriors? It was unheard of. Yet no one dared object.

The first wolf—a burly soldier named Rovan—stepped forward. Kaelen moved like shadow and steel. Within seconds, Rovan lay flat on his back, winded. Another stepped in, then another, but none lasted longer than moments. The King’s speed, his precision, his sheer dominance left the crowd breathless.

Aria’s hands clenched around her satchel. Every movement he made was controlled power, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. She should have looked away. She should have kept her distance. But her eyes betrayed her, tracking his every strike, every dodge, every subtle shift of muscle.

Then it happened.

A warrior’s blade—dull, meant for training, yet still dangerous—slipped in the frenzy. Kaelen dodged, but not fast enough. The edge sliced across his forearm, a deep gash that bled instantly.

The crowd gasped. The warrior stumbled back, pale with terror.

But Kaelen didn’t flinch. He glanced at the wound, his face unreadable, then straightened. “Another,” he commanded.

Damian rushed forward, flustered. “My King, perhaps we should—”

“Another,” Kaelen repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Yet Aria was already moving. Her healer’s instincts overrode fear. She slipped through the crowd, ignoring the mutters, the glares, the sneers of “Why her?” She dropped to her knees at Kaelen’s side, her satchel opening with practiced ease.

“Hold still,” she said softly.

For the first time, his eyes locked directly onto hers.

The world seemed to still.

His gaze was sharp, assessing, but beneath it was something else—something that made her pulse stumble, made heat rush to her cheeks.

Aria forced her trembling hands to steady. She cleaned the wound quickly, her touch light but firm. Blood stained her fingers, hot against her skin. She pressed a cloth to stem the flow, then reached for a salve of golden resin and herbs.

“You should rest this,” she murmured.

“I do not rest for scratches,” Kaelen replied, his voice a low rumble.

Her lips curved faintly despite herself. “Then at least let me keep you from bleeding out while you play invincible.”

The faintest flicker of something—amusement?—tugged at the corner of his mouth. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by that unreadable mask.

Still, he allowed her to work.

The crowd whispered furiously. Omegas weren’t meant to touch kings. They weren’t meant to stand so close, let alone tend him with such ease. But Kaelen didn’t stop her. If anything, he seemed to study her every movement, as if she were the one under scrutiny.

When she bound the wound with clean linen, her fingers brushed his skin. Sparks shot up her arm, sudden, electric, undeniable. She jerked slightly, her eyes flying to his.

He had felt it too.

For a heartbeat, their gazes locked—hers wide with shock, his narrowed, intense. The air between them seemed to hum, charged with something forbidden and dangerous.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to finish tying the bandage.

“There,” she whispered, her voice barely steady. “It will hold.”

Kaelen flexed his arm, testing. The bandage stayed firm. He looked at her for a long, piercing moment, as though trying to decipher a secret written across her face.

Then he rose, towering over her.

“Continue,” he commanded to the warriors, dismissing the incident as if nothing had happened.

But Aria’s heart still raced, her skin still tingled where she had touched him, and her mind replayed that spark again and again.

The rest of the training blurred. Aria remained at the edge, her satchel ready, but her thoughts far away. She had touched the Alpha King. She had felt something—something impossible, something she dared not name.

By midday, the warriors collapsed in exhaustion, but Kaelen remained unshaken. Only then did he finally step away, his expression unreadable. He gave curt nods of dismissal, and the crowd dispersed, buzzing with awe.

Aria packed her satchel quietly, hoping to slip away unseen.

But a shadow fell over her.

She looked up—and froze.

Kaelen stood before her, silent, his silver eyes locked onto hers.

Her breath caught. She bowed her head quickly, murmuring, “My King.”

“Walk with me,” he said.

Her heart stuttered. She almost protested, but his tone left no room for refusal. She followed him as he strode from the training grounds, past the muttering stares of pack members.

They stopped near the edge of the forest, away from prying eyes.

For a long moment, Kaelen said nothing. He studied her, his gaze sharp, unsettling. Finally, he spoke.

“You are healer?”

“Yes, my King,” she answered softly. “I serve in the infirmary.”

“You serve,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. His gaze flicked to her hands—still faintly stained with his blood. “You did not hesitate.”

Aria swallowed. “I… I only did what was needed.”

“Others hesitated.” His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. “They froze. You moved.”

She blinked, unsure how to respond. No one had ever praised her for stepping forward. Usually, she was scolded for overstepping her place.

Kaelen stepped closer, and the air thickened. She could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the faint, intoxicating blend of pine and smoke that clung to his skin.

Her pulse thundered.

“You are not what they say you are,” he said lowly, almost to himself.

Aria’s breath hitched. “My King—”

But his gaze burned into hers, holding her still. Sparks danced in the air again, faint but undeniable. She felt as if the ground beneath her had shifted, as if some unseen bond had tightened around her chest.

It terrified her.

She dropped her gaze quickly, forcing distance into her voice. “Forgive me, my King. I am nothing but an Omega. My duty is to heal, nothing more.”

Silence stretched. Then, to her shock, Kaelen leaned closer, his words a low murmur by her ear.

“Lies do not suit you.”

Her knees nearly gave out. Heat rushed through her, mingled with confusion, fear, and something far more dangerous.

Before she could gather her thoughts, he stepped back, his mask of cold authority sliding back into place.

“Return to your infirmary,” he ordered. “Continue your work.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, his cloak brushing the forest floor, leaving her trembling in his wake.

That night, Aria sat alone in the infirmary, staring at her hands.

She could still feel the ghost of his skin beneath her fingers. Still hear his voice—low, certain, dangerous. Lies do not suit you.

She pressed her hands to her face, her heart pounding. This was madness. He was the Alpha King, untouchable, unreachable. She was a rejected Omega, the lowest of the low.

And yet… something had passed between them. Something neither of them could deny.

The wound she had bound was not the only one that day.

Fate, it seemed, had cut far deeper.