Chapter 29: Weakness

Third POV

The morning light streamed through the tall windows of Odette's chambers, casting warm golden squares across the polished floor.

For the first time in months, the queen sat propped against her pillows, a cup of steaming tea cradled in her hands. Her cheeks held color, her eyes were bright, and her voice no longer sounded like wind through dead leaves.

"Ah, it has been so long since I felt this well," Odette said, sighing with contentment as she sipped her tea. "What must the day be like outside? Do you think I could take a walk in the garden?"

Hecate worked at the foot of the bed, her hands massaging Odette's feet with firm, practiced strokes. The oil she used smelled of lavender and something deeper, something ancient that seemed to sink into the queen's skin and warm her from within.

After several days of sessions, Odette could already feel movement in her legs. She could not yet walk, could not yet stand, but the deadness had begun to recede. Her complexion had improved.

Her breathing had deepened. She could sit up and speak with a voice that carried strength instead of despair.

"The snow is still falling outside," Ysabella said from her place near the window. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but something cold crept into her words.

She was glad Odette was healing, truly. But she could not forget the cruelty this woman had shown, the entitlement, the way she had spoken to the king as if he were a dog she could kick.

Odette either did not notice or did not care. She turned her gaze to Maddox, who stood at a distance near the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"You should not go outside," he said. "It could worsen your condition."

Odette scoffed. "You are such a killjoy, Maddox."

"Actually," Hecate interjected, her voice calm and measured, "going outside would do her a great deal of good. Fresh air and sunlight are medicines as potent as any I can brew. Once the snow stops, we can take a walk through the gardens. I will accompany her myself."

Odette smiled at the healer, a genuine warmth in her expression that she rarely showed anyone. "Oh, Maddox. Where did you find her? She is excellent at everything she does. Finally, you have stopped being useless and done something worthwhile."

The insult hung in the air.

Ysabella watched Maddox's face. For a moment, something flickered in his golden eyes. Pain, perhaps. Or shame. His gaze drifted to Hecate, as if seeking something from her. Comfort, maybe. Or understanding.

Hecate did not look at him. Her focus remained on Odette's feet, her hands steady, her expression perfectly neutral. But Ysabella noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

The moment passed.

---

When the session ended, Ysabella followed Hecate back to her studio. The healer moved with her usual grace, but there was something different about her today. Something heavier.

As Hecate began to wash her hands in a basin of water, she spoke without turning around.

"I have a question for you, Lady Ysabella. Something I have been wondering since I arrived."

Ysabella leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "Ask."

"The king. How is he not having outbursts of rage? Since I came to this castle, I have not seen him lose control once. Not even a flicker. The stories I heard before I came painted a very different picture."

Ysabella was quiet for a moment. She had expected many questions, but not this one.

"It is because of the blood of his former mate," she said finally. "Lady Samantha. She was the only soother who could truly calm him. Before she left, she gave him a vial of her blood. He keeps it in the pendant around his neck. It is the only thing that keeps the beast at bay."

Hecate's hands stilled in the water. "Former mate? She left him?"

"She fled. Three years ago. The king searched for her for months, but she was never found." Ysabella's voice grew softer. "Most believe she is dead. The forest is no place for a wolfless woman alone."

Hecate said nothing. She dried her hands on a cloth and turned to face Ysabella. Her dark eyes were unreadable.

"You are fond of the king," Ysabella said. It was not a question.

Hecate tilted her head. "What makes you say that?"

"I have seen the way you look at each other. The way he came to your studio in the middle of the night. The way you tense when Odette insults him."

Ysabella pushed herself off the doorframe and took a step closer. "I know that witches are not known for their morals, but the king is married. Remember that when you are spreading your legs for him."

The words were sharp, deliberate. A warning wrapped in an insult.

Hecate did not flinch. She did not blush. She only held Ysabella's gaze with that unsettling calm of hers.

"I will not deny that I have a weakness for him," Hecate said quietly. "I would be lying if I said otherwise. But I am not here to steal a married man, Lady Ysabella. I am here to heal the queen. Whatever else may or may not happen is between the king and his conscience."

Ysabella's jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, wanted to push further, but something in Hecate's tone gave her pause. The healer was not defensive. She was not manipulative. She was simply honest.

"That session is over for today," Hecate said. "I will see you tomorrow."

Ysabella turned and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the frame and looked back.

"Samantha was a good woman," she said. "She deserved better than what the king gave her. Do not let him do the same to you."

Then she left.

Hecate stood alone in her studio, surrounded by drying herbs and glass vials and the faint scent of magic. She walked to the window and looked out at the falling snow, her reflection ghostly in the glass.

Her hand rose to her chest, to the place where her heart beat beneath her ribs.

"A weakness," she whispered to herself. "Yes. That is one word for it."

She closed her eyes and let the silence swallow her.