CHAPTER 7- The Healer and the King
738 Words
The palace loomed like a sleeping giant, its towers piercing the pale morning sky. Lyra’s heart rustled against her ribs as she approached the gates, her cloak hood drawn low.
Two guards barred her path.
“Halt. State your purpose—”
Lyra lifted her hand.
Silver light shimmered softly across her palm—healing magic, unmistakable.
“I was summoned,” she said calmly. “By your Moon Seer.”
The guards stiffened immediately.
“High Healer—”
“Forgive us, Lady Moonsong.”
They escorted her through the gates with quiet reverence.
Lyra kept her head bowed.
Inside the palace, moon crystals glowed along the hallway walls, reflecting on silver floors. The deeper she went, the heavier the air felt—grief hung there, thick and unmoving.
They stopped before two large obsidian doors.
“Wait here,” a guard instructed.
The doors opened.
Lyra stepped inside.
The king’s courtroom.
King Kael Bloodborne stood at the far balcony, his massive frame silhouetted by the rising moon. His silver-black hair ruffled in the cold wind, his shoulders tense, his posture rigid. A storm contained in flesh.
His wolf sensed her first.
Rokhan growled inside him—not hostile, but alert.
Kael turned.
Golden eyes met hers.
And Lyra froze.
This was a man carved from grief and rage.
This was a king carrying a kingdom on his back.
This was someone who had bled too much already.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Kael finally broke the silence.
“You are the High Healer.”
Lyra nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“You were hidden outside the borders.”
It was not a question.
She lifted her chin. “My mother kept me hidden because she knew the darkness would rise again. And that when it did… I would be needed.”
Kael’s jaw tensed.
“Aria trusted your mother,” he said quietly.
That name struck him like an arrow each time.
Lyra softened. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Majesty.”
His eyes flickered—pain, fury, vulnerability—all in one heartbeat. He masked it quickly.
“Eloween believes you can help us.”
“She is right. Though I am not certain how, from the visions and prophecy, we are to stand together for a chance to defeat the shadows.”
Lyra inhaled.
“The Shadow is in Skyblood for a reason.”
Kael’s breath stilled.
Lyra continued, her voice steady, “Whatever killed Queen Aria… it was not finished.”
A dangerous calm settled over Kael.
“Then we fight,” he said.
Lyra stepped closer.
“Your Majesty, you do not understand. The Shadow does not just want your land… or your throne.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his fully.
“It wants you.”
His wolf snarled within him.
Lyra swallowed.
“And if we do not stand together, your kingdom will fall.”
Kael did not blink.
“Then welcome to Skyblood, Healer,” he said at last. “Your war begins now.”
Lyra held his gaze.
Kael studied her—not just her words, but the very essence of her. Her magic. Her composure. The quiet strength pulsing beneath her calm exterior.
Then his voice cut the air, blunt and direct.
“I cannot sense your wolf. Do you not have one?”
Lyra blinked, startled by the abruptness.
“Do you not think,” she said slowly, “that it is a personal question to ask a stranger?”
Kael did not flinch.
“I mean no offense. You come from a powerful healing lineage. I expected a wolf to match that strength.”
Lyra held his gaze, steady and unflinching.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice quiet but edged with steel, “if I remain long enough, you might find the answer to your question.”
A flicker of something—interest, irritation, curiosity—crossed Kael’s face before he buried it beneath his usual sternness.
For a long moment, the room was silent again. The air had changed, sharpened, charged with something unspoken.
At last, Kael nodded once.
“Very well, Healer. Your place in this palace begins today.”
Lyra inclined her head, calm but resolute.
“Thank you.”
And with that, the fragile alliance between a grieving king and the last Moonsong healer was forged—quietly, unexpectedly, and on the edge of a rising darkness.
- Writer
