Chapter 29
Elara
Ihave to get him out of here. Elara would heal with her essence, but Caelan needed immediate medical attention. She assessed his injuries—leaning on Ursa’s lessons—and determined that he had a cracked sternum, at least one broken rib, and likely a concussion.
She dragged his heavy limp body to the door. Elara’s shadows were just outside the throne room, their faces bleak. They each took one of Caelan’s arms and helped tow his unconscious form down the hall.
“Take him to Ursa! Hurry!” Elara said, needing to change out of her dripping, freezing clothes.
“We’ll see you in the infirmary, Your Highness,” said Silas, nodding. The guards glanced at each other, a pained look passing between them.
They love him too, she realized, her chest a little lighter, knowing that she could trust them to get him to safety.
When she got to her room, Lysandra was on her bed, staring at her with wide green eyes and meowing with concern. The feline bounced onto the floor and bolted out of the room, nearly tripping Elara.
“Hey! Wait!”
It was no use. The creature was long gone, and Elara had more pressing matters to attend to. As she came back to her full faculties—her body already healed from Lord Stormrider’s attack—she was struck by the idea that Caelan’s anger toward his father wasn’t only about her.
If he did all of this to me, she thought, what on earth has he done to you?
She remembered the scars on his hand and his father’s sabotage during the tournament.
All of this to his own son. Shivering, she hastily changed into a dry set of training clothes—since they were the easiest to put on alone—then slipped into the tunnels and rushed to Ursa’s infirmary.
The familiar smell of herbs and rubbing alcohol filled her nose, and she relished the warmth pumping from the hearth.
The comfort was short-lived, however. Elara swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself.
Caelan was lying prone on the large center table, shirtless, as Ursa ladled steaming liquid into his mouth.
He gagged a little, but swallowed all of the foul-smelling potion. Felix and Silas hovered in the corner.
“I’ll watch Lord Stormrider,” Silas said, face pale and sickly, like he was moments away from vomiting.
“And I’ll tell Lady Seraphine what happened, if that’s all right, Princess Elara?” Felix asked. She nodded.
Her shadows gone, Elara flew to Caelan’s side, grasping his hand and pressing it to her heart.
“What can I do to help?” she asked Ursa, gaze fixed on his closed eyes.
“His chest took a hefty blow,” Ursa said, shaking her head at the floor and wiping her hands on her apron. “And he has two broken ribs. Grab the bandages from the lowest cabinet.”
Elara obeyed, riffling through the cupboard for the strips of linen, then handing them to her mentor.
“Help me lift him up,” the physician said. The two women pulled the dead weight of his form into a seated position, eliciting a moan from him. As Ursa wrapped the bandages around his torso, she asked, “What happened to him?”
“His father,” Elara whispered, brushing blond curls off of his forehead.
Ursa’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“He found out about the baby. I don’t understand why he was so livid about it. There has to be something else going on here, Ursa. I can feel it. Lord Stormrider wants more than an alliance. Maybe even more than a line of Stormriders on the throne.”
“Stormriders? But that would mean . . .”
“Yes, abdicating my throne and passing the rule of Serendith to Caelan as king. It’s that, or Lord Stormrider would kill me anyway, especially if he thinks I won’t be able to have children. I’ve been so focused on my family, I didn’t realize how much danger I was in myself.”
“Finished. Lay him back down,” Ursa said. “Have a seat. I imagine you’ve been through quite the ordeal. I’ll make you some tea.”
Elara shook her head. “I’m fine. Is there anything else he needs?” She all but fell into her chair, heavy with overwhelm.
“All he needs now is rest. Stay with him, and wake him in an hour. Give him more of this.” Ursa handed her a vial filled with silvery liquid.
Elara’s brow furrowed as she pressed the back of her hand to Caelan’s cheek.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Ursa said, slipping out of the room.
Stars, please don’t take him from me, she prayed. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” he croaked, squeezing her hand before losing consciousness once more.
Elara woke to loud meowing. She sat upright in her chair, neck stiff and chest aching—an empathetic echo of Caelan’s pain. He still lay on the table in Ursa’s infirmary.
“How long was I asleep?” she asked Lysandra.
The feline was curled up on Elara’s lap. Not long. I heard your guard telling the Nimireth what happened. Are you all right?
“Better than Caelan.” Elara shrugged, then brushed the back of her hand across his forehead, checking for fever.
You have blood in your hair.
Elara scowled. “I was attacked. And he’s hurt. You think I care about my hair?”
Lysandra shook her head. It is a lot of blood, Elara. Your wound did not heal itself.
Elara reached up to the matted spot on the back of her head, fingertips probing the area. “It worked. I kept myself from healing.” She’d kept her power hidden from Lord Stormrider—a small mercy. A tiny spark of pride flickered in her battered heart as she watched Caelan’s chest rise and fall.