The panic created by the mounted regiments rushing through the castle gates quickly spread to the Infirmary within minutes. Whispers traveled not just within the palace walls, but reached even the most distant corners of Shadowpeak: "The King is wounded. A magical sword blow."
Evelyn froze in the corner where she was cleaning herbs. This was not merely the wounding of a king; it meant the entire kingdom's heart had seized up. Guards, commanders, and Lycan nurses rushed around in a panic and chaos.
Chief Healer Lysandra, her face deathly pale, was barking orders. The King's room was instantly sterilized, and four senior healers specializing in magic wounds were quickly assembled.
Chaos and the Touch
Soon after, a stretcher carried by eight powerful Lycans appeared in the corridor. Lying on the stretcher was Alpha King Damon, who had completely lost his statue-like composure. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles twitching violently.
The air around him vibrated with a dense, dark energy. This was the cursed power Lysandra had mentioned. The sword blow had unleashed Damon's true power, plunging him into a physical and magical chaos.
The senior healers frantically examined the wound. They whispered to each other in an ancient, incomprehensible language, similar to Latin.
"The poison is spreading rapidly!"
"The magic is embedded in the spine! We cannot neutralize it!"
"Back away! His power is becoming uncontrolled!"
Damon suddenly arched his back on the stretcher like a bow. An uncontrolled howl, mixed with pain and fury, tore from his throat. Objects around him rattled, and the infirmary doors slammed shut violently. The senior healers were thrown back by the uncontrolled wave of power.
In the midst of the chaos, Evelyn moved. Without waiting for Lysandra to warn or even restrain her, she advanced toward the most dangerous thing there was for a mortal. The promise of silver, the faces of her family—all merged in that moment, giving her a fearless resolve.
She approached the trembling stretcher and reached out toward King Damon's wound—a morbid, purplish-black injury visible beneath the edge of his dark armor.
The moment Evelyn's cold fingertips touched the hot, cursed skin of the wound, something unexpected happened.
The tremors in King Damon's body suddenly lost their intensity. His howl ceased. The dense, dark magical energy surrounding him slowly began to calm down, as if being pulled away beneath Evelyn's hands. Evelyn's secret, natural healing affinity acted like a polar opposite to the King's cursed power, beginning to balance the chaos.
Eye Contact and the New Order
Lysandra and the other healers were frozen in astonishment. In that instant, the secret words Evelyn had whispered to the Chief Healer (her ability to balance elemental poisons) became a terrifying reality.
As Evelyn withdrew, King Damon's face was slightly less contorted. Slowly, Damon turned his head. His cold, ice-blue eyes locked directly onto Evelyn's dark, determined gaze.
The eye contact lasted for a single second—the longest moment of Evelyn's life. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was the first, raw confrontation between a mortal and a king. In Damon's eyes, she read pain, surprise, and a faint curiosity.
Evelyn instantly looked away. She was only a shadow; meeting his eyes was an audacity for a mortal.
Lysandra immediately took control of the situation. She pulled Evelyn away from the stretcher.
"Healer! What was that?" Lysandra whispered.
Evelyn took a deep breath. "The magic poison can only be neutralized with elemental herbs. My grandmother taught me. The cursed blade upset his elemental balance. My touch, and the right herbs, can slowly cleanse the curse. The other healers are trying to cut the magic, not balance the curse."
Lysandra ignored the protests of the other healers and turned to Evelyn: "Do it. But if you fail, I will strike not only you but your family with my curse."
Evelyn nodded. Fear was firmly overshadowed by her determination. The Monarchy now had to accept Evelyn's existence.
Balcony Observations and Winter Whispers
King Damon's recovery process began. Evelyn had become his closest attendant. Every day, under Lysandra's supervision, she applied specially prepared herbal salves to the King's wound.
As the King healed, the glances between them became sparser, yet Evelyn was no longer just a "shadow" to him.
After his health returned, Damon often stood on his tower balcony, watching the bustling court life below. Sometimes his eyes would fall upon Evelyn, who was drying herbs in the dim courtyard of the infirmary. Evelyn could feel his icy gaze even on her back, but she focused on her work, refusing to meet his eyes. She was a healer, not a concubine candidate.
However, the King's recovery did not halt the drama in the palace. The King was obliged to perform his political and physical duties.
One afternoon, while Evelyn was washing soiled bedding, she overheard two concubines whispering. The concubines stood by the fountain, speaking with a touch of pride.
"Who was in the Tower last night?"
"It was Princess Lyra. She was talking about how fierce and powerful the King is in bed. Just like a true Alpha."
Evelyn paused, wringing out the laundry in her hands. Her cheeks flushed. The hands that balanced the magic poison were, to her, merely tools. But King Damon was still a source of political power for the court, and the pinnacle of desire for the concubines. The gulf between this fierce, powerful Alpha and the poor mortal who had contracted for her family's life grew deeper with every passing day.
Evelyn returned to her task. She was merely the Anchor. Not a woman. Just a figure maintaining silence in exchange for silver.