Luca had never treated a wound this carefully. It wasn't only the danger of infection, or the depth of the cut-- though both were serious enough. It was the fact that the man before him, resting uneasily on a bed of moss, was no ordinary stranger. He was a prince. Lucus layed with his eyes half-closed, his chest rising and falling with uneven rhythm.
The moonlight revealed his profile: sharp jaw, the faint curve of lips that still carried the ghost of a smile, and lashes that fluttered when pain surged through him."You shouldn't… have helped me," Lucus murmured, his voice rough. "It's dangerous to stand too close to a dying crown."
"You're not dying," Luca said firmly, though his hands trembled as he stitched the wound with starthread — glowing silver threads woven from starlight itself. "Not tonight."Lucus huffed softly, almost amused. "Then I owe you my life."Luca kept his gaze on the wound, refusing to meet those storm-colored eyes. "No one owes me anything. I don't save people for reward."
"Then why save me?" Lucus asked.The question hung in the air like a blade. Luca had no answer, only the strange pull in his chest that had driven him forward. He didn't understand it himself.So he said nothing.Lucus chuckled weakly, then winced. "Silent. Mysterious. I'll figure you out, healer."And despite himself, Luca felt his lips twitch. He pulled the thread taut, sealing the last of the wound. The night forest was silent again — but in Luca's chest, something restless had awakened.