Warmth.
That was the first thing Lara noticed. Heat under her body. She was wrapped in heavy furs and blankets that smelled like smoke and pine. Then came the pain, like all her bones had been broken and put back together.
Her eyes slowly opened.
The room was dim, lit by the soft glow of a lantern and the warm light from a fire nearby. The air smelled of herbs and metal.
She tried to sit up, but a firm hand eased her back.
"Careful," said a calm, firm voice. An older man sat at her bedside, with white hair and a plain tunic. He had the look of someone used to obedience, despite his unassuming robes.
"You're lucky to be alive."
Lara blinked at him, her throat dry. "Where...?"
"You're in the Lycan King's chambers," he replied simply. "He brought you here himself. Carried you from the forest and ordered that I tend to you. Personally."
The king? Had she heard correctly.
"The Lycan King... brought me here?" she echoed.
The healer nodded once. "That's what I said."
"Why?" she asked, her brows pulling together.
He offered her a silver cup of water. "That's a question for him, not me."
Why would the Lycan King help me?
She leaned back against the pillows, her heart beating fast. Her body ached, but it was the rush of thoughts in her head that made her feel dizzy.
Lara stared at him. Until he rescued her she had never seen a Lycan before. She took the silver cup he gave her and drank slowly, trying to calm her breathing.
Why would a Lycan, no, why would the Lycan King...
She didn't finish the thought. She was too afraid to. She was no one important, she didn't even have a wolf, and yet, here she was. In his room. Under his protection. She saw the healer stirring a bowl of herbs
"Don't overthink it." She said almost to herself.
The healer looked up from his mixing table. "Pardon?"
She shook her head slightly. "Where is he? The king?"
The healer walked over with a basin of steaming herbs. "He's attending a banquet."
"Where?"
"He didn't say." He looked visibly irritated at her questions.
"Did he say when he'd be back?" she asked quietly.
The healer shook his head. "No."
Lara didn't respond. Her eyes drifted to the window, the trees barely visible in the distance.
"Rest now," the healer said, placing a jar of salve on the bedside table. "You'll need your strength."
As he left, the memory returned like a storm: golden eyes, a massive creature standing between her and death. And later, those same eyes, looking down at her before everything went black.
Lara threw off the covers. Every muscle in her body ached, but she welcomed the pain. It meant she was still alive.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet on the cold stone floor. She felt the chills run up her body. Her knees shook, but she grabbed the bedpost and held on until her head stopped spinning.
The room was quiet. The healer had gone out, maybe to get more herbs to prepare the strange mixture he had been preparing. She took one slow step forward, then another.
The room was large and made of old stone. It felt strong but also beautiful. A big fireplace filled one wall, its fire casting warm light across the space. The rugs were soft and thick, and fur blankets lay across the floor.
Lara walked to the window. The heavy curtains were pulled halfway, letting in the sunlight that spread across the stone floor.
She looked out of the window and the sight took her breath away.
Outside, the kingdom of Vargorath stretched across the mountainside. Its black towers rose high, flying red banners. Below, messengers ran, and riders on horses raced through the gates. Beyond the walls, a wide forest and river led to the misty mountains. It wasn't just a view, it was a kingdom full of strength and life.
Lara turned away from the window as the door creaked open. The older man stepped in and
His eyes landed on Lara.
"You're supposed to be in bed," he grumbled, crossing the room without waiting for a reply.
Lara turned slowly.
"I needed air," she said.
"You need rest," he snapped, not unkindly. "You almost died. Twice. Once from your wounds, and once from the fever. And now you're standing there like a ghost princess staring out a window."
Lara almost found it funny, she watched as the healer set his satchel down with a huff.
"Stubborn forest girls," he muttered, unpacking jars and herbs. "No sense of recovery, no idea what sleep is."
"Are all your patients this unwelcome?" she asked coolly.
"Only the ones who think standing upright means they're cured."
He took her wrist, fingers surprisingly warm and gentle against her skin as he checked her pulse.
"Hmph. Still weak. You're lucky the King got to you when he did."
At the mention of the King, her heart skipped a beat. He turned back to his herbs.
"Now bed," he said. "Before I sedate you and have the guards carry you to it."
Lara blinked. "You're serious."
"Oh, very."
With a sigh, Lara padded back to the bed and slipped under the furs.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Don't thank me yet. You'll hate the tea."
Great, she groaned inwardly.
The moment the cup touched her lips, the bitterness curled her tongue.
She grimaced. "This tastes really bad."
"Thank you," the healer said dryly. "It's good for you. You will heal quickly."
She forced it down in slow sips, her face twisting with every swallow. Her body still ached, but the warmth of the drink began to spread through her chest into her body.
As she settled deeper beneath the furs, her eyelids grew heavier. Her breathing slowed, the tension in her limbs easing at last. The pain dulled, replaced by a fragile sense of safety and calm.