Roderic
I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep when the crash woke me.
A metallic clang, followed by the scatter of objects hitting the floor and a pained cry cutting through the room.
Then a heavy thud, as though someone had fallen.
I groaned and rolled out of bed, fumbling in the darkness until my fingers found the tinderbox on the bedside table.
I struck it and lit the candle.
Warm light spilt across the room, and I saw her.
She was on the floor near the washstand, sprawled on her back amidst the wreckage of a brass basin, an iron stand, and several glass bottles that had shattered across the stone.
She must have walked straight into the stand in the dark because the entire thing had toppled, scattering its contents across the floor.
She looked up at me with wide, startled eyes, her face flushed with embarrassment and fear.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to sit up.
“I didn’t — I was trying to find the — it was dark, and I couldn’t see — I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, Alpha—”
I climbed off the bed, carried the candle to the wall bracket, lit it, then moved to the next, until the room was properly lit.
She started to get up but winced, her weight shifting awkwardly, her face tightening with pain.
I walked over and stood above her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head, tucking her feet beneath her gown.
“It’s just a nick, I’m sure. I’m fine. I’ll clean this up and—”
I crouched in front of her and reached for the gown hiding her leg, but she shrank back, her eyes widening.
“I’m really fine, I promise.”
“Let me see.”
When she tried to struggle again, I stilled her hand, and she stopped moving.
I lifted the hem of her gown and saw her knees were scraped raw, both of them, the skin torn and beading with blood.
Her right foot was worse.
Her big toe was bleeding, where she’d caught it on the iron stand, and a thin cut ran along the sole from a piece of broken glass.
When I checked her arms, both elbows were grazed.
“Did you walk through a field of thorns?” I asked, surprised at the extent of her injury.
“You’re bleeding in four places.”
“I’d hardly call this hurt,” she murmured, shaking off my hand.
“I’ve had worse injuries than this.”
She’d said the words casually and without any self-pity as though bleeding on the floor was part of the life she’d known.
It made me wonder what sort of life she’d led.
She lowered her head, guilt clouding her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Alpha. Lord Aven said I must come every night for at least a month.” Her voice was small.
“I must have fallen asleep waiting for you. I just wanted to relieve myself. I’m sorry.”
“Can you stop apologising?” I sighed.
“You’re wearing me out with this constant pity party. If you didn’t see me, why did you wait up? And if you were that desperate, you could have called out to me in the dark. If your father sees you like this, he’ll think I’m maltreating you.”
Her head snapped up.
“No, you’re not. I can explain to him. I’m so—” She trailed off, her lips trembling as she caught the word before it left her mouth.
She hung her head again.
I studied her for a moment, feeling agitated and worried in equal measure.
Like me, she’d been thrust into a scheme she hadn’t asked for.
In all of this, she was the real victim.
Sighing, I bent over and scooped her up from the wreckage, ignoring her soft whimpers and reassurances that she was fine.
I carried her across the room toward the chamber pot, then stopped as I realised I’d have to assist her.
“I can manage,” she said softly, already wiggling in my arms.
“Behave yourself, you foolish woman! Stop it before I drop you!” I lowered her carefully onto the chamber pot, reaching to raise her gown.
“Be quick.”
Her cheeks turned crimson, but she finally relieved herself.
I handed her a towel to clean up, then picked her up again and carried her to the chair in the room, setting her down.
When she tried to protest and stand, I told her firmly, “Sit down.”
She had no choice but to do as she was told.
I crossed to the cabinet near the washroom and returned with the wooden medicine chest I kept for field injuries.
I set it on the floor beside her, opened it, and pulled out a cloth, a small pot of salve, and a roll of linen bandage.
She watched me with an expression caught between confusion and disbelief.
“Your Majesty, please. You don’t have to. I can easily—”
“Shut up and don’t move.”
She quietened again.
I sighed, dipped the cloth in the basin water that hadn’t spilt, and began cleaning the scrape on her left knee.
She flinched at the first touch but held still after that, her fingers gripping the edge of her gown, her eyes fixed on the wall above my head.
Neither of us spoke.
The only sounds were her occasional groans and the crackle of the dying fire behind me.
I had no idea why I was doing this.
I didn’t know why her scent was still filling my head, or why my wolf had gone quiet and watchful.
The bottom line was that she was an innocent bystander.
After a few minutes, I’d stopped the worst of the bleeding and disinfected the wounds. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
But as I was applying the salve, I noticed something.
The bruises were already beginning to heal.
Not as fast as a Bloodright wolf’s injuries would, but far faster than they should for a woman with no wolf.
The edges of the scrapes were knitting together, the swelling already subsiding.
By morning, half of these wounds would be gone.
I looked up at her.
“Aren’t you a commoner?”
“I am.”
“You’re healing like you have a wolf. Since when do commoners have one?”
Her eyes clouded with confusion as she stared at me.
“My parents were mixed, Alpha. My father was a soldier. He had a Common wolf.”
That seemed like a reasonable explanation.
A Common wolf — the weakest tier, barely enough to shift, certainly not enough to carry a scent or command authority — but enough to pass a trace of accelerated healing to a daughter.
It made sense.
And yet my wolf didn’t settle.
It kept watching her with that same quiet, intent focus, as though the answer she’d given was true but incomplete.
I closed the box and rose to my feet, returning it to its place.
When I came back, she was already trying to stand.
“Try not to put too much pressure on your left leg,” I told her.
“The ankle is swollen. You may have sprained it.”
She nodded.
“Thank you, Alpha. I just want to return to the fireplace. You must be tired—”
“How about going back to your room?”
“Lord Aven—” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have to stay here until morning. If he hears I returned to my chambers before dawn, he’d…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t need to.
“gods,” I exhaled.
“I hate this. Make sure you leave at the first light of dawn; I don’t want to spoil my day by seeing you first.”
I crossed back to the bed and climbed under the covers.
I reached for the candle on the bedside table and snuffed it out, leaving the rest on.
Sleep came faster than I expected.
But even as I drifted off, her scent lingered in the air around me, and the last thought I had before the darkness took me was not of Lysara.
It was of her.