Phoebe's POV
"He'll pull through, but the blood loss was severe," the healer announced. The elderly woman, probably in her early eighties, spoke with deliberate slowness. "I've sealed his wounds with healing magic. No need to fret, my queen."
"Thank you, Ysabel," I said, relief flooding through me as I addressed the ancient healer.
"I'll brew a remedy for him, my queen." The healer bowed and departed, leaving me alone with Timothy.
I settled on the bed's edge, taking his cold hand in mine. He remained unconscious, his complexion ashen but his chest still rising and falling steadily.
From Dominic's account, Timothy had battled five creatures simultaneously while shielding Harlow.
The same little girl he'd been uncertain about wanting in his world—the only obstacle preventing him from pursuing Jude.
Yet here he lay, having risked everything for her protection.
