I carried Emma through the palace corridors, her weight both familiar and terrifyingly light in my arms. Blood—mine and hers—had dried in dark patches across our skin, flaking off with each lurching step I took. The wound in my side screamed with every movement, but I refused to let anyone else carry my mate. Aeson paced anxiously within me, his golden presence dimmed with grief over our damaged bond. Where Emma's consciousness had once twined with mine, warm and ever-present, now only the faintest whisper remained—like trying to hear a heartbeat through a concrete wall. We were still connected, but barely, the golden thread between us unraveled to its final, most tenuous strand.“Your Majesty, please—" a doctor tried to intercept me, hands outstretched toward Emma's limp form."No," I growled, the single syllable laced with Aeson's authority. The doctor stepped back immediately, recognising the futility of arguing with a Lycan whose mate was injured. Instead, he h
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