Elara's hands trembled as she worked the herbs into a thick paste, the familiar scent of lavender and rosemary calming her nerves. She didn't have the luxury of fear today; the prince's life depended on her.
Prince Kaelen, she thought bitterly. Why did he have to come here?
The kingdom's royal family had long been a source of pain for Elara. As a child, she had witnessed the destruction they wrought upon her village, taking what they wanted, leaving only ruin in their wake. The memories of fires, the screams of her neighbors as soldiers marched through the village, and the theft of everything precious had scarred her deeply. The royal family had always taken, but never given. Now, the prince was at her door, and she had no choice but to help him.
Her fingers paused over the mortar, instinctively reaching for more of the dried herbs. She hadn't expected to be summoned here, not by the prince himself. When the villagers had arrived with the injured stranger, his blood seeping into the dirt, she hadn't thought twice about helping. But now that he was here, the weight of the curse that haunted her felt as if it had returned in full force.
She glanced over at the bed where Kaelen lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His once-pristine armor was covered in dirt and blood, the injuries deep and terrifying. A warrior, a prince, a leader—he was everything Elara had avoided for years. And yet, here he was, the man she could never love.
Her heart skipped at the thought, the faintest pang of something she couldn't name twisting in her chest. No. Not him. She could never love him. Not after what had happened.
She pressed the paste to his wound, her fingers lightly brushing his skin as the healing magic flowed through her. A strange warmth spread through her hands, a heat that had nothing to do with the magic of her healing. Her pulse quickened as the curse that had haunted her for years made its presence known.
No... not him. Her heart pounded in her chest. Not him.
But deep down, she knew it was too late. The curse had already begun. Kaelen's eyes fluttered open, a slow and reluctant process. His vision was blurry at first, and the harsh light of the room made his head throb painfully. He groaned, his body heavy, as if it had been dragged through miles of burning sand. The pain in his side was nearly unbearable, and for a moment, he thought he might be dead. But no, he was alive. He could hear someone moving near him—faintly, the sound of soft breathing.
He blinked and tried to focus. There she was. Elara.
Her hair was wild, and her face was a picture of both strength and vulnerability. Her eyes, though, were filled with something deeper. A sadness? No, he thought. It was more than that. There was something about her that stirred him in a way he didn't fully understand.
"You…" he rasped, his voice rough from lack of use. His throat felt like it was made of gravel.
Elara looked up, her eyes briefly meeting his before she quickly turned her attention back to his wound. There was no warmth in her gaze, only quiet professionalism.
"You're lucky to be alive, Prince Kaelen," she said, her voice a mixture of wariness and something else. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it."
He swallowed, but the pain was too much. "I should be dead," he muttered, looking down at his bandaged wounds. The sharp sting that followed his movement told him how close to death he had been. His body ached, but it was a different kind of ache—the kind that came from knowing something was wrong, something he couldn't quite grasp.
Her face remained unreadable. "You should've been dead," she said quietly. "But you're not. And I'm here because of that."
He tried to sit up, his hands bracing against the bed, but a sharp pain shot through his side, making him gasp. He winced and fell back onto the pillow, his breath coming in shallow bursts.
"Careful," Elara said, her voice firm yet gentle. She had the air of someone who knew how to handle both the wounded and the volatile. He couldn't help but notice the way her hands moved, precise and deliberate as she checked his bandages again.
Kaelen blinked. "Elara…" he said, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. He had never heard it before, and yet it felt like he should have.
Her name fell from his lips like an accusation. She was the healer. She was the one who had saved him.
But there was something in her eyes, a wariness that made him hesitate. It was as if she was guarding a secret—a secret that could unravel everything.
"I… I should go back to my kingdom," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. His mind was clouded, his thoughts scrambled. The urgency gnawed at him. His kingdom was at war. His people were dying. But more than that, he had to return to the throne. He had to take his place.
"You can't," Elara said, her tone surprisingly firm.
Kaelen's brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked, his eyes searching her face for any trace of hesitation, any sign of weakness. But there was none. She was unflinching.
"You're in no condition to travel," she replied, her gaze hardening. "Your injuries are grave. You can barely move."
He clenched his jaw. "I don't have time to lie in a bed."
Elara stepped back, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing. "And I don't have time to keep you alive if you're just going to throw it all away."
He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, the door to the small cabin flew open with a creak, and a man in armor stepped inside. His eyes were grim, and his posture straight, but there was a flicker of worry in his expression that Kaelen instantly recognized. It was the look of someone who had seen the worst of the battlefield.
"The king's orders," the man said, voice tight with urgency. "You must come with us."
Elara looked between Kaelen and the man, her lips pressed into a thin line. "The king's orders?" she repeated, as if testing the words.
"Immediately," the man insisted.
Kaelen's gaze turned toward Elara, searching her face for any sign that she knew more than she was letting on. The tension in the room felt almost suffocating, and he could see that Elara was not happy with the situation. She was reluctant to let him leave, that much was clear.
But her expression hardened again, and she looked away, as if forcing herself to ignore the emotions flickering just beneath the surface.
"You're not ready," she said quietly, her voice a warning.
"I'm ready," he snapped, though his body protested with every movement. He clenched his teeth, holding back a groan of pain.
The armored man moved toward him. "Your Highness, we don't have time."
Kaelen pushed himself up, ignoring the pain that threatened to collapse him. He wasn't going to be kept here. Not when his kingdom needed him.
Elara sighed, her breath coming out in a soft exhale. "Fine," she said, her voice heavy with reluctance. "Go, then."
Kaelen's eyes met hers, and for a moment, something passed between them—an understanding, or perhaps an unspoken warning.
As he stepped toward the door, he paused. "I'll return," he said, looking back over his shoulder.
But Elara didn't answer. She stood still, her arms folded across her chest, watching him go.
And the moment the door closed behind him, the shadows in the room seemed to grow darker. The air grew colder, and Elara felt the curse stir again, creeping beneath her skin like a poison.
The prince had left, but the curse had only just begun.
Part 1 end