CHAPTER SEVEN
IRIS
My white robe was dusted gray, and the headband that kept my hair back had lost its shape hours ago. My hands ached from work, and my shoulders felt heavy. The healer’s wing was quiet now, lit only by the soft glow of a few oil lamps. The smell of herbs lingered in the air, sharp and clean.
I let out a long sigh. “Raven, it’s dark already. Can I leave now?”
She looked up from the table she was wiping and shook her head. “Not yet. We still need to clean the instruments. You know how the captain gets if he finds so much as a spot on them.”
I groaned under my breath but nodded. “Fine.”
Together we moved through the room, setting things in order. The metal trays clinked softly as we stacked them. Dust caught the lamplight while we wiped the shelves. My arms felt like lead, but the work went faster with Raven beside me.
When I reached for the top shelf, my sleeve slipped back, and I caught sight of the hawk of Valebran stitched into the robe. The silver thread had dulled over time, but the shape was still clear.
I glanced at Raven. She was focused on a jar of dried sage, her expression calm and distant. I knew her story. Everyone did. She had come from Valebran when she was sixteen, after the man she loved had broken her heart so completely she had left her home
behind.
I hesitated before speaking. “Do you ever miss it?”
She paused mid-motion, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the shelf. For a moment she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the glass jars lined neatly before her. Then a small, thoughtful smile touched her lips.
“Sometimes,” she said quietly. “It was beautiful there. Warm, full of music and light. The kind of place where you never thought anything bad could happen.”
Her voice softened. “But memories like that hurt after a while, so I stopped holding onto them.”
I watched her closely. The light caught her dark hair, turning it almost bronze. There was peace in her face, but something else too. Something like loss, worn smooth by time.
“But you are happy here, right?” I asked. The question sounded smaller than I meant it to, as if I were asking for both of us.
Raven turned to me, her smile softening. “Oh, of course I am.
Happier than I ever thought I would be.”
Her tone was warm, but I could hear the faint edge of the weariness beneath it, the kind that comes from making peace with what cannot be changed.
I smiled despite myself. “Good.”
She nudged my arm lightly. “Enough talking. The quicker we finish, the quicker we can leave.”
I nodded, not wanting to press further. I reached for the next shelf. The room was quiet again, filled only with the soft clatter of glass and metal. I could already imagine the relief of my bed, the feel of sleep pulling me under after a long day.
Then the door opened.
The sound was sharp against the stillness, and both of us turned at once.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was dark, and wet from the night and his jaw was sharp beneath the light. His deep brown eyes swept the room before settling on us.
My breath caught.
For a moment, my mind refused to name him. I could feel my pulse rise, the sound of it in my ears.
Raven moved first, her tone brisk. “He’s hurt,” she said, already crossing the room toward him. “Get a table ready.”
But I couldn’t move. The world seemed to narrow around the
sound of her voice and the sight of him stepping into the light. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, blood darkening the fabric. He looked pale, unsteady, but still somehow composed. Too composed for a man bleeding through his clothes.
It was him.
William.
My stomach twisted. Heat rushed to my face, chased by panic.
His eyes found mine almost at once. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.
Recognition hit like a spark. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression shifting, first surprise, then disbelief, then something softer that made my chest tighten.
“Elara,” he said quietly.
Raven turned at the name, confusion flickering across her face. “Who’s Ela—”
I cut her off with a quick glance. The look must have been enough; her words died in her throat
Raven hesitated, her eyes flickering between us. Something unreadable crossed her face. Curiosity, maybe suspicion, but she said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and caught William gently by the arm. “Sit down before you fall down,” she said, her tone brisk again.
He did as she told him, lowering himself onto the nearest stool. His breathing was slow but heavy, his hand pressed tightly against
the wound.
I forced myself to move. My mind raced, but my body knew what to do. I reached for a clean cloth and a bowl of water as my fingers trembled.
Raven looked over her shoulder. “You take the cloth.” she said.
I nodded quickly. My throat felt dry.
Kneeling beside him, I pressed the cloth against his shoulder.
The torchlight glinted along his jaw, tracing the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Up close, he smelled of iron and rain. He was watching me, really watching me with that same steady intensity I remembered from the night he opened his door.
My heart thudded painfully. I focused on the wound, not his eyes. “Hold still,” I said softly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft splash of water and the quiet rasp of cloth on skin.
Then he said, low enough that Raven couldn’t quite hear, “So we do meet again after all.”
My heart lurched. I kept my gaze fixed on the wound, afraid of what he might see if I looked up. “It seems we do.”
He gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “You said maybe never.”
The sound of it caught in my chest. I didn’t answer. My fingers worked at the cloth, steady but tense, wringing more water from it than needed. Anything to keep my hands busy, anything to avoid
his eyes.
He filled the silence with a softer voice. “I thought I’d never see you again. You didn’t tell me you were a castle healer.”
“I didn’t think it was important,” I said, forcing the words out evenly.
“Not important?” His tone sharpened, not cruelly, but with an edge of disbelief. He leaned forward slightly, the movement small but enough to make my pulse quicken. “Even after I told you I’d be knighted?”
I drew a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was just worried because of the storm.”
“I see,” he said simply.
The words were soft, but something in them made my stomach twist. It wasn’t anger, not yet. More like disappointment that cut quieter and deeper. He didn’t believe me. He was right not to.
The truth was, I had lied out of panic. I always did when I slipped beyond the castle walls.
It had become instinct to hide who I was, to protect myself from the risk of being reported to my father’s guards.
If someone ever recognized me and sent word back to the castle, the punishment would be severe.
But now, standing before him, that lie felt utterly ridiculous. I hadn’t been thinking at all that night. Not when I gave him a false name, not when I told him half-truths about who I was. He had told me he was to be knighted, and I still hadn’t realized what that
that meant.
A knight of Elarion would live within the castle walls. He would guard its gates, dine in its halls, walk the same corridors I did.
And now here he was, sitting right in front of me.
The weight of it sank in, heavy and cold. There would be no easy way to keep this secret now. All it would take was one careless word, one servant calling me by name, and the truth
would surface.
I pressed the cloth to his shoulder again, trying to hide the tremor in my hands. The wound was deep but clean, a sharp gash along the muscle. I could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric, steady and strong beneath my fingers.
“Hold still,” I said quietly.
He didn’t move. The torchlight threw a soft glow over his face, catching on the dark strands of his hair and the faint curve of a smile that wasn’t quite there. His eyes were calm, unreadable, but they held mine longer than they should have.
I wondered if he could tell how fast my heart was beating. If he could see how close I was to breaking the silence, to confessing everything before it slipped from my control.
The silence felt fragile, stretched thin between us. I needed to say something, anything, before it broke. “You should be careful
next time,” I said softly. “It could have been worse.”
He gave a faint huff of breath that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Oh, yeah? Well, guess who stabbed me.”
I frowned and looked up at him. “Stabbed you?”
He nodded once, the movement slow. “Two men. The same ones from the theatre.”
My stomach dropped. “You’re certain?”
“Hard to forget a face after they try to lay hands on a woman in front of you,” he said. His tone was even, but there was a weight behind it. “They found me by the trees. Said I’d pay for what I did.”
I stared at the wound again, at the red mark cutting across his shoulder. “You could have been killed.”
He gave a faint shrug, wincing as he did. “Wouldn’t be the first to try. I just didn’t think they’d follow me this far.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “They’re angry because you defended me.”
He looked at me then, his expression unreadable in the shifting light. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”
“I do,” I said. “You were just trying to help, and now you’re hurt because of it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then his mouth curved slightly. “Well then,” he said, a teasing note in his voice, “you’d better heal it.”
The words caught me off guard, and before I could stop it, a small smile tugged at my lips. “Of course,” I said softly. “Then do
as you’re told and take off your tunic.”
He raised a brow, but the corner of his mouth lifted higher. “Yes, healer.”
Carefully, he pulled the tunic over his head. The movement was slow, deliberate, his breath catching once as the fabric brushed the wound. When the cloth fell aside, the torchlight caught on the curve of his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His
body was all clean lines and strength, built from years of training.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus on the wound, not the man. My pulse still hadn’t slowed. Every time I brushed the cloth against his skin, I could feel the warmth of him beneath my fingertips, steady, alive, and far too close.
I dipped the cloth back into the bowl and wrung it out, pretending my hands were steadier than they were. The water had turned faintly red. I pushed the thought away.
“Don’t move,” I said quietly.
He obeyed. The wound was deep enough to sting when I pressed the wet cloth to it, but he didn’t flinch. His breath stayed slow and measured, though a faint line had formed along his jaw where he held the pain in.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Only a little,” he said, his voice lower now. “You have a careful touch.”
I tried to keep my focus on the wound, not the heat radiating off his skin. “I’ve had practice.”
He studied me for a moment. I could feel his gaze even when I didn’t look at him. “You don’t look like someone who belongs in a place like this.”
I glanced at him, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you seem out of place,” he said simply. “Too gentle for
these walls.”
The words hit harder than they should have. My chest tightened. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
He smiled faintly, a quiet curve that softened his face. “Maybe not. But I’d like to.”
The air between us shifted. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
The bowl of water sat forgotten beside me, the torchlight flickering across its surface.
I didn’t know where to look or what to say, so I reached for the bandage instead.
My hands needed something to do, anything to distract from the heat rising in my face.
“You don’t need stitches,” I murmured. “You’re lucky.”
“Or maybe those men just weren’t trying hard enough,” he said, chuckling.
I glanced up sharply. “You think that’s something to joke about?”
He shrugged, the faintest wince flashing his face. “Humor helps
with the pain.”
I shook my head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “That’s a terrible way to deal with pain.”
“It works well enough,” he said, shrugging.
I focused on the bandage, wrapping it carefully around his shoulder. The fabric brushed against his skin, warm beneath my fingers. His breathing stayed even, though I could sense the tension in him, like he was holding something back.
“You’ll need to keep it clean,” I said. “Change the bandage tomorrow, and don’t lift anything heavy for a few days.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “You do realize that’s my job.”
“Then you’ll just have to disobey orders for once,” I said, tying off the last knot.
“Wouldn’t want to upset the captain,” he replied, amusement flickering in his tone.
“Then don’t get stabbed again,” I said simply.
He smiled at that, a small, genuine curve of his lips. “I’ll try, healer.”
The sound of his voice saying the word healer made something twist inside me. I stepped back to put some space between us. “There. You’re done.”
He stood slowly, testing the movement of his arm. “You’ve got a steady hand,” he said.
“I’ve had practice,” I replied.
His eyes lingered on me, warm and unreadable. “Still,” he said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I managed, keeping my tone even.
He nodded once, then reached for his torn tunic, draping it over his arm. “Guess I should let you get back to work.”
“That would be wise,” I said, though part of me didn’t want him to go.
He paused at the doorway, the faintest trace of a smile still on his
lips. “Good night, Elara.”
My breath caught, but I only nodded. “Good night, ser knight.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
For a long moment, I stood there, staring at the place he had been. The air felt warmer somehow, touched by his presence. Then the warmth faded, replaced by a hollow quiet. His footsteps echoed down the hall, until they disappeared completely.
The fire crackled faintly in the hearth. Shadows leaned across the floor, long and trembling.
I exhaled, slow and uneven. My pulse still hadn’t settled.
Across the room, Raven was at the table, sorting through her herbs. The sound of her rustling leaves and clinking glass was almost too loud. She didn’t look at me at first, and I almost thought she might not say anything at all.
Then she did.
“So,” she said casually, glancing my way, “why did you lie
about your name?”