The Wolf's Queen Vows

Chapter 25: The special bond

Three days had passed, and Aveloria still hadn’t woken up. At first, the physicians had told the king it was exhaustion. Her body needed time to adjust to her wolf form, and such a transformation could take a toll on anyone’s energy. But by the morning of the third day, her color had changed. Her once warm skin now looked pale and lifeless. The glow that had surrounded her when she was found was gone.

King Alaric stood beside her bed, his hand clutching hers tightly. His eyes were red from lack of sleep. He hadn’t left her side except to attend to urgent matters of the kingdom. Every time someone entered the room, his heart jumped with hope, only to be crushed again by the same answer: no change.

The room smelled of medicine and burned herbs. Incense had been placed near her bedside to aid her breathing, but nothing helped.

Mira, the head maid, wrung her hands nervously near the doorway. "Your Majesty," she said softly, "the physicians are requesting to see you."

He turned his head sharply. "Bring them in."

Moments later, the three palace physicians walked in, their faces drawn and tense. The head physician, an older man with years of experience, bowed deeply before speaking.

"Your Majesty, we’ve done everything within our knowledge. Her pulse weakens each day. Her veins carry something we cannot heal with medicine or herbs."

"What do you mean?" the king asked, his voice low but shaking with anger. "You’re saying you don’t know what’s killing my daughter?"

The physician swallowed hard. "It isn’t a natural sickness, my lord. It is poison. But not an ordinary one. It carries traces of dark magic—witchcraft."

The air in the room shifted instantly. The king’s face hardened. "Dark magic? You’re certain?"

The older man nodded. "Completely. We tested her blood. It carries the mark of the Blackroot Curse, a poison crafted by witches to corrupt the body and weaken the spirit. Only a spiritual healer can extract it. If we delay, it could bind permanently to her life force."

The king clenched his fists. "How could this happen? She hasn’t left the palace since she shifted. Only the staff and her mates have been near her!" frёewebηovel.cѳm

At that moment, Marek and Galen, who had been waiting outside, rushed into the room.

"What’s happening?" Marek demanded, his voice loud enough to echo.

"She’s been poisoned," the king said, his tone breaking slightly. "And it’s not something our healers can treat."

Galen’s eyes widened. "Poisoned? By who?"

"If I knew, they’d already be dead," the king said sharply. He turned to the guards by the door. "Round up every maid and attendant who’s been in this room since the day she was found. Take them to the dungeon for questioning. I want answers before dawn."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

The guards bowed, dragging Mira along. "But Your Majesty, no one—"

"Enough!" The king snapped at her. "No one is above suspicion until we know who’s responsible."

Mira began to cry quietly as she was led away, fear gripping her. frёewebηovel.cѳm

***********************

Outside the chamber, the palace was tense. Word had spread again, this time not of celebration but fear. The heiress who had just claimed her wolf now lay dying. Servants whispered behind closed doors, soldiers doubled patrols, and even the council members avoided meeting the king’s eyes.

Marek stood by the window inside the room, his fists clenched tightly. His anger heightened with each passing second.

"This is my fault," he muttered.

Galen turned to him. "Don’t start."

"It is," Marek said, his tone firm. "I should have watched her closer. I was too busy fighting with Theron like a fool while someone slipped poison into her body."

Galen exhaled slowly. "You’re not the only one who failed her."

"She trusted me," Marek said, his jaw tightening. "And I failed her again."

Galen didn’t respond. The guilt in the room was heavy enough without more words.

Theron entered a few moments later, his face cold, his steps controlled but heavy. His eyes went straight to the bed where Aveloria lay motionless. He moved toward her slowly, sitting beside her and brushing a thumb along her hand.

"She’s colder," he said quietly. "Her pulse is weaker."

"The poison’s spreading," Galen replied. "They said it’s witch-made. It won’t stop unless the source is purged."

Theron’s nostrils flared. "Then find me the witch. I’ll rip them apart myself."

"Marek already sent trackers out," Galen said. "They’ll look into any witches rumored to be nearby."

"It’s not enough," Theron growled. He turned to Marek, his anger spilling over. "If you hadn’t distracted the guards with that nonsense of wanting to watch her last night, maybe—"

"Don’t," Marek interrupted, stepping closer. "Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her."

"Then act like it!" Theron snapped. "You keep talking about how much she means to you, but where were you when someone tried to kill her?"

Before it could escalate, Galen stepped between them. "Stop it. This isn’t helping her. We all failed her. Every one of us."

That silenced them.

The king cleared his throat from where he stood at the entrance, his face heavy with exhaustion. "You’re right," he said slowly. "What she needs now isn’t your anger, it’s help. I’ve already sent for the strongest spiritual healer from the north. She’ll arrive by sunrise tomorrow. Until then, she’ll need constant watch. No one enters or leaves this room without my permission."

All three men nodded, each retreating to their silent guilt.

The king leaned over and kissed his daughter’s forehead softly. "Hold on, my child," he whispered. "You’ve fought too hard to be taken now."

The palace quieted as the day faded into night, but the tension didn’t. Guards stood at every corridor, their armor gleaming faintly under torchlight. The dungeons echoed with the frightened sobs of the palace maids being questioned individually.

In Aveloria’s room, the candlelight flickered weakly against the walls. Galen sat in a chair near the bed, watching her chest rise and fall in a shallow rhythm. Theron had left to handle the interrogations, while Marek stayed outside, refusing to leave his post.

Galen ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. He couldn’t shake the image of her laughing, alive, stubborn as ever, the opposite of what she looked like now. He remembered the moment she had trained with him days earlier, falling to her knees but refusing to give up. She had wanted to be strong enough to face anything.

And now she was fading.

He lowered his head, whispering, "I should’ve protected you."

********************

Far from the palace walls, a lone traveler moved along the dark road leading into Lycanthria. He wore a cloak with the hood drawn low, his cart filled with empty crates that rattled slightly as the wheels turned. To anyone watching, he looked like an ordinary trader arriving late.

But under that hood, Lucien’s eyes burned with quiet intensity. He had felt it three nights ago, the sudden weakening of their bond. Aveloria’s essence had dimmed, slipping further away with every hour. It had driven him mad. He’d left everything behind and crossed two borders to reach her.

He knew coming here was dangerous. It could mean war if anyone discovered his presence, especially the king. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let her die.

By the time he reached the palace gates, the guards were half asleep. He offered a convincing lie about delivering goods for the palace kitchen. They barely looked inside the cart before waving him through.

Lucien maneuvered through the quiet streets, heading straight for the royal sector. He knew the layout well enough to slip through the side entrances unseen. By the time he reached the private wing, the bond pulled him closer. He could feel her faintly, a weak pulse through the bond, like a heartbeat under water.

He was surprised to find the corridor empty and without guards. However, he had managed to evade the patrol guards nearby. Lucien pushed the door open and slipped inside.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the dying candles. She looked fragile against the bed’s white sheets. Her lips were pale, her breathing uneven.

Lucien’s throat tightened. He moved closer, sitting beside her. "I’m here," he murmured. He removed his cloak and sat on the bed, his hands brushing gently against her arms.

For a long moment, he just sat there, holding her hand.

"You’re stronger than this," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I know you are. You’re not allowed to leave me now."

Her fingers twitched faintly, almost unnoticeable, but it was enough to make him freeze. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers.

"I’ll find whoever did this to you," he said quietly. "I don’t care who they are. I’ll tear down this palace if I have to."

A faint warmth gleamed through the bond, and her wolf stirred somewhere deep inside her. Her breathing steadied for just a second before fading again.

Lucien smiled. "That’s it. Stay with me."

He brushed his thumb along her cheek, his touch gentle. "You don’t have to fight alone anymore. I’ll handle the rest. Just wake up."

He stayed there for several minutes, whispering soft words of comfort, things he hadn’t said out loud in years. His warmth spread across her skin, and though her eyes didn’t open, her heartbeat grew slightly stronger.

When he finally stood, he glanced around the room one last time. He knew he couldn’t stay much longer; everything would fall apart if anyone found him here.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I’ll come back," he whispered. "And when I do, you’ll be awake. I promise."

With that, he grabbed his cloak, pulled his hood back over his head, and slipped out the way he came.

Moments after he left, the wind stirred through the open window. The candlelight flickered and went out. Aveloria’s fingers moved again, slow, faint, but sure.

The healer would arrive by sunrise, but Lucien’s warmth had already done something none of the others could. Her wolf stirred thoroughly beneath her skin for the first time in three days.

And though she still couldn’t wake, her body began to fight back.