Mira's POV
The fiancée's eyes cut through me like shards of ice.
"I'm waiting for an answer, Cassian." Her voice was silk wrapped around steel. "Who is this... person... and why are you holding her hand?"
Prince Cassian released my hand immediately, but I saw something flash across his face. Guilt? Frustration? Before I could identify it, his expression went blank—the perfect royal mask.
"Lady Seraphine," he said formally. "May I present Mira Ashwood. She's the healer who saved my life."
Lady Seraphine's perfect lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She glided forward, her dress shimmering like water. Everything about her screamed wealth, power, and magic. I could feel it radiating from her—strong illusion magic that made the air shimmer slightly around her.
She stopped directly in front of me, so close I could smell her perfume. Expensive. Suffocating.
"How fascinating," she purred, circling me like a predator studying prey. "A magicless healer. I didn't know such things still existed. Tell me, how exactly did you 'save' the Crown Prince?"
The way she said "save" made it clear she didn't believe a word.
"I used silvervine, moonflower, and—"
"Spare me the details." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm sure whatever you did was... quaint. But now that real healers are handling Cassian's care, your services are no longer needed."
"Actually," Prince Cassian said, his voice tight, "I've just made Mira my personal healer. She'll be staying at the palace."
Seraphine's smile froze. "Your personal healer. How... unexpected." She turned to Queen Isadora, her expression perfectly innocent. "Your Majesty, surely this isn't appropriate? The Crown Prince having a young, common girl as his 'personal' anything?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt dozens of eyes on me, judging, calculating.
Queen Isadora seized the opportunity like a snake striking. "Lady Seraphine raises an excellent point. While I cannot overturn my son's pardon—Crown Right prevents that—I can certainly dictate the terms of this girl's employment."
My brief moment of victory crumbled.
"Mira Ashwood will work in the healing ward," the Queen continued, her voice carrying through the throne room. "But not as the Crown Prince's personal healer. That would be... inappropriate. Instead, she'll work under Master Hadeon, our head royal healer. He'll determine her duties and supervise her work."
Prince Cassian's jaw clenched. "Mother—"
"It's a compromise, Cassian. The girl gets to heal, as you granted. But she does so under proper supervision. Surely you see the wisdom in that?"
It was a trap, and we both knew it. If the Prince pushed back, he'd look like he wanted special, private access to a young common girl. With his fiancée standing right there, he couldn't argue without causing a scandal.
"Master Hadeon is a fair man," Queen Isadora said sweetly. "I'm sure he'll treat her... appropriately."
The way she said "appropriately" sent chills down my spine.
Prince Cassian looked at me, and I saw apology in his eyes. But he couldn't save me from this without making things worse.
"As you wish, Mother," he said finally, the words clearly bitter in his mouth.
"Excellent." Queen Isadora gestured to a guard. "Take Miss Ashwood to the healing ward. Master Hadeon is expecting her."
Two guards grabbed my arms before I could react. Not roughly this time, but firmly. Making it clear I had no choice.
As they pulled me toward the doors, I looked back once. Prince Cassian was watching me, his silver eyes intense and unreadable. Lady Seraphine had her hand possessively on his arm, smiling in triumph.
And Queen Isadora... Queen Isadora looked satisfied. Like everything had gone exactly as she'd planned.
The throne room doors closed behind me with a sound like doom.
The guards marched me through twisting corridors until we reached a section of the palace that smelled like herbs and antiseptic. The healing ward.
They stopped in front of a large wooden door and knocked.
"Enter," a voice called from inside. Male. Cold.
The guards pushed me forward into a large room filled with medical supplies, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and tables covered in instruments. And standing in the center, arms crossed, was a man who looked like he'd just bitten into something sour.
Master Hadeon. The head royal healer.
He was older, maybe fifty, with gray hair and sharp eyes that examined me with obvious disgust. Magic radiated from him in golden waves—powerful healing magic that made my skin prickle.
"So," he said, his lip curling. "You're the magicless girl who claims she saved the Crown Prince."
"I did save him," I said quietly.
"Impossible." He waved his hand dismissively. "Nightshade Tears requires complex magical extraction. The very idea that someone without magic could cure it is laughable."
"I used dragon's breath oil and—"
"I don't care what crude methods you employed." His voice cut through mine like a knife. "You got lucky. That's all. And now, because the Prince has some misguided sense of gratitude, I'm stuck with you."
He circled me, looking me up and down like I was contaminated.
"Let's establish some rules," he said. "First, you do not touch any patients. Ever. You are not qualified, and I won't have you killing people with your primitive nonsense."
"But the Prince said I could heal—"
"The Prince is young and emotional. I am the head healer, and in this ward, MY word is law." His eyes were like ice. "Second, you will address all magical healers as 'Master' or 'Mistress.' You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not share your opinions on treatment. You exist to serve your betters."
Rage burned in my chest, but I swallowed it down. Fighting now would only make things worse.
"Third," Master Hadeon continued, "you will perform whatever tasks I assign. Cleaning, laundry, disposing of waste—all the jobs too menial for real healers. Consider it an education in humility."
He turned away, done with me already. "Your quarters are in the servants' wing. A girl will show you the way. Report here at dawn tomorrow. If you're even one minute late, I'll have you flogged."
A young girl in a servant's dress appeared in the doorway. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and curiosity.
"Come on," she whispered. "I'll show you where you'll sleep."
I followed her through more corridors, down narrower stairs, into parts of the palace that were decidedly less grand. The servants' wing was cramped and dim, with small rooms lining a long hallway.
"Here," the girl said, stopping at a door. "This one's yours."
She opened it to reveal a tiny room—barely bigger than a closet. A narrow cot, a small table, a single candle. Nothing else.
After my clinic in the Lower Districts, it should have felt luxurious. But it felt like a prison.
"I'm Emma," the girl said shyly. "I work in the kitchens. If you need anything—"
"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked. Everyone else had made it clear I was less than dirt.
Emma smiled sadly. "Because I know what it's like. Being treated like you don't matter." She touched her neck, where I saw a faint scar—a brand. "I was born in the Lower Districts too. Got sold into service when I was eight."
Something tightened in my chest. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Could be worse." She glanced down the hallway nervously. "Listen, word of advice? Master Hadeon is cruel to everyone, but he especially hates non-magical healers. He had one working here five years ago. Made her life so miserable she..." Emma trailed off.
"She what?"
"She disappeared one night. Some say she ran away. Others say..." Emma's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Others say she didn't leave on her own."
Ice flooded my veins. "You think Master Hadeon killed her?"
"I think the palace is dangerous for people like us. People without magic, without power, without protection." Emma squeezed my hand. "Be careful, Mira. And watch your back."
She left, closing the door behind her.
I sank onto the cot, exhaustion crashing over me. I'd survived the Queen's judgment, won the Prince's pardon, and gained the right to heal.
But I'd also made powerful enemies and been trapped in a position where I'd be tormented daily by a man who might have murdered someone like me.
I touched the small table beside my cot. Something was carved into it—words scratched deeply into the wood.
I held my candle closer to read them.
Help me. Please. Someone help me. He's going to kill—
The message ended abruptly, the letters becoming violent scratches, like whoever wrote it had been dragged away mid-word.
My hand trembled as I traced the desperate plea.
This was the room of the last magicless healer. The one who'd disappeared.
And now I was sleeping in her bed.
A sound made me freeze. Footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Deliberate. Stopping right outside my door.
The handle turned.
I grabbed the candle, ready to use it as a weapon. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst.
The door swung open.
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.
"Please don't scream," a familiar voice said. "I came to warn you."
Prince Cassian stepped into my tiny room, and his silver eyes were filled with fear.
"You're in terrible danger," he said urgently. "And I might be the only person in this palace who can keep you alive."