Phoebe's POV
"Royal beta Flynn, why don't we wait until the king is awake and then ask him about what actually happened?" Marcela's voice trembled with fear—fear for my life.
"Leave, Marcela," Flynn snapped, his patience wearing thin. His piercing stare locked onto the healer's eyes, ensuring she grasped the gravity of the situation.
Marcela hesitated, torn between duty and compassion. Her gaze flickered toward me as I remained curled on the bed, clutching my chest against the searing pain. But defying Flynn's command wasn't an option.
"Please, don't make a rash decision," she pleaded before reluctantly stepping toward the door. The soft click of it closing behind her felt like a death knell.
Now it was just Flynn and me.
His footsteps approached the bed, each one deliberate and menacing. When he stopped beside me, his contemptuous stare made my skin crawl.
