Mira's POV
The guards' shouts faded into the distance, giving me maybe three minutes. Three minutes to do what magical healers needed an hour to accomplish.
My hands flew over the Prince's body, checking vitals. Pulse: weak and irregular. Breathing: shallow. Skin: cold and clammy. The black veins had retreated from his heart, but poison still coursed through his blood.
I'd stopped the immediate death. But he wasn't saved yet. Not even close.
"Stay with me," I whispered, pressing my ear to his chest. His heartbeat stuttered—skip, beat, skip, skip, beat. The poison was attacking it, trying to make it stop completely.
I had minutes. Maybe less.
My ruined medicine bag lay scattered across the alley stones. Most of my supplies were destroyed, ground into mud and filth. But I scrambled through the mess with shaking hands, searching for anything usable.
A crushed bundle of yarrow root—might work. Half a vial of willowbark extract—not enough, but better than nothing. And there, somehow unbroken, a tiny bottle of dragon's breath oil.
My heart leaped. Dragon's breath was the one thing that could burn poison out of blood from the inside. Master Theron had shown me once, years ago, but warned me it was dangerous. One drop too much and it would burn the patient's organs instead of the poison.
I had no measuring tools. No way to be precise. Just my knowledge and my desperation.
The Prince's breathing hitched. Stopped. Started again.
No time to second-guess.
I uncorked the dragon's breath oil. The smell was sharp, acidic, burning my nostrils. My hands steadied as I tipped the bottle carefully—one drop, two drops, three drops onto my palm.
Then I pressed my hand over his heart and pushed down hard.
The Prince's eyes flew open. He screamed.
It was the worst sound I'd ever heard—pure agony ripping from his throat. His body arched off the ground, every muscle going rigid. His silver eyes were wide and unseeing, lost in pain.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I chanted, keeping pressure on his chest even as he thrashed. "But you have to live. You have to."
The dragon's breath was working. I could feel it under my palm—heat building, burning through his blood. Killing the poison but hurting him in the process.
Master Theron's words echoed in my mind: "Healing isn't always gentle. Sometimes you have to hurt someone to save them. That's the burden we carry."
The Prince's screams cut off abruptly. His body went limp.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I thought I'd killed him.
Then his chest rose. Fell. Rose again. Steady now. Strong.
I pressed my fingers to his neck. His pulse was still weak, but it was regular. No more skipping. The black veins under his skin were gone completely.
He'd live.
Relief hit me so hard I almost collapsed on top of him. My hands trembled violently now that the crisis was over. I'd done it. With almost nothing, in a dirty alley, with guards coming to kill me—I'd saved a dying man from Nightshade Tears.
Pride and terror warred in my chest.
The Prince's eyes opened again, but different this time. Conscious. Aware. Those impossible silver eyes focused on my face with startling intensity.
"You..." His voice was barely a whisper, raw from screaming. "Who... are you?"
"Nobody," I said automatically. "Just a healer. You were poisoned. Nightshade Tears. I—"
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was weak but determined.
"You saved me." Not a question. A statement.
"I... yes. But you need to get to a real healer. A magical one. I only did emergency treatment. You need—"
"Thank you."
Two simple words. But the way he said them—with genuine gratitude, like I was a person who mattered—made my throat tight.
Nobody had thanked me like that in years. Maybe ever.
"You're welcome," I whispered.
That's when I noticed what I was touching. My hands—my worthless, magicless hands—were pressed against his chest. Against royal skin. Against the future king of Asterlyn.
And on his collar, gleaming even in the dying light, was the royal crest. Not just any royal crest. The crowned wolf symbol that only one person in the kingdom could wear.
Crown Prince Cassian.
The air left my lungs in a rush.
I'd just put my hands all over the Crown Prince. I'd cut him, made him bleed, caused him pain. All things that were punishable by death for a commoner. Especially a magicless commoner.
"I have to go," I gasped, trying to pull away.
But his hand tightened on my wrist. "Wait. What's your name?"
"It doesn't matter." Panic clawed at my throat. "You're safe now. The guards will find you. They'll take care of you. I have to—"
"Your name." His silver eyes held mine, commanding despite his weakness.
"Mira," I blurted. "Mira Ashwood. Now please, I have to go before—"
Boots thundered into the alley.
Too late. I was too late.
"THERE!" A guard's voice boomed. "The Crown Prince! And—is that blood? ASSASSIN!"
Everything happened at once.
Guards swarmed into the alley like angry hornets. Swords came out, gleaming and deadly. Rough hands grabbed me, yanking me away from the Prince. Someone hit me across the face—I tasted blood.
"No!" I struggled against their grip. "I'm not an assassin! I saved him! Ask him! Ask the Prince!"
But Crown Prince Cassian's eyes had rolled back again. He'd passed out, exhausted from the pain and the poison.
He couldn't defend me. Couldn't tell them the truth.
A sword pressed against my throat. Cold metal bit into my skin.
"You have three seconds to explain," a captain growled, "why a magicless rat like you was found touching the Crown Prince with blood all over your hands."
"I'm a healer!" The words tumbled out desperately. "He was poisoned. Nightshade Tears. I saved his life. Check his pulse—it's steady now. Check his blood—the poison is gone. I SAVED HIM!"
"She's lying," another guard spat. "Trying to cover up her assassination attempt."
"I'm not lying! Look at my supplies!" I gestured wildly at my scattered herbs. "Those are healing herbs! Silvervine, moonflower, dragon's breath oil—all used to cure poison! Would an assassin carry those?"
The captain's eyes narrowed. He looked at my bag, then at the Prince, then at me.
For one moment, I thought he might believe me.
Then a woman in flowing robes appeared, power radiating from her in golden waves. A magical healer. She knelt beside the Prince, her hands glowing as she examined him.
Her eyes widened. "Nightshade Tears. But... the poison is neutralized. How is this possible?"
"The girl claims she cured him," the captain said skeptically.
The magical healer looked at me. Really looked at me—at my split lip, my dirty clothes, my calloused hands still stained with the Prince's blood.
Something calculating flashed across her face.
"Impossible," she said flatly. "A magicless commoner couldn't cure Nightshade Tears. I must have arrived just in time. My magic saved him."
My jaw dropped. "What? No! I saved him! I used dragon's breath oil and—"
"Silence!" The captain backhanded me. Stars exploded across my vision. "You dare contradict a royal healer?"
"But I—"
The Prince groaned. Everyone froze.
Crown Prince Cassian's eyes fluttered open again. They found my face immediately, even through the crowd of guards.
"She..." His voice was weak but clear. "She saved... me..."
Hope exploded in my chest. He remembered! He was going to tell them!
"Your Highness," the magical healer said quickly, leaning over him. "Don't try to speak. You've been through a terrible ordeal. This girl was found over your body with blood on her hands. We're handling it."
"No..." The Prince tried to sit up but fell back, too weak. "She... saved..."
His eyes rolled back. The magical healer's hands glowed brighter.
"His mind is confused from the poison," she announced. "Nothing he says right now can be trusted. We need to get him to the palace immediately."
"NO!" I screamed. "He's trying to tell you the truth! I saved him! I SAVED HIM!"
The captain nodded to his guards. "Take her to the dungeons. Queen Isadora will decide her fate."
"Please!" I begged as they dragged me backward. "Just ask him when he wakes up! He'll tell you! He knows I saved him!"
But they weren't listening. They never listened to people like me.
I watched helplessly as they lifted the Prince onto a stretcher. The magical healer walked beside him, basking in praise for a miracle cure she didn't perform.
She'd stolen my work. Stolen my one chance at proving I was worth something.
The guards hauled me away, their grip bruising my arms.
"Wait!" I twisted around for one last look. "My medicine bag! Please, it's all I have!"
A guard kicked it. My precious herbs scattered into the gutter.
"Garbage," he said. "Just like you."
They dragged me down street after street. People stared. Some pointed and whispered. Others spat at me. I kept my head down, tears burning behind my eyes.
I'd saved the Crown Prince's life.
And I was going to die for it.
The palace loomed ahead, beautiful and terrible. They didn't take me through the grand entrance. Of course not. I wasn't worthy of that.
Instead, they pulled me around back, toward a small door that led underground.
"Welcome to your new home," the captain said with cruel satisfaction. "Though you won't be here long. Queen Isadora doesn't waste time with trials for trash like you."
The dungeon stairs descended into darkness. Into cold. Into the end of everything.
My last thought before the shadows swallowed me was of silver eyes looking at me with gratitude.
Would he even remember my name when he woke?
Would anyone ever know the truth?
The iron door slammed shut behind me with the sound of finality.
And I was alone in the dark.