The Healer and Her God

Chapter 6 The Healers Hands

The council chamber emptied one voice at a time until the echoes of boots faded into silence. Kaelen remained seated at the head of the long oak table, staring at nothing. His fingers drummed against the polished wood, his jaw taut with the weight of endless demands.

Eria lingered near the door, her ears twitching with unease. She had been summoned only to observe, yet the sight of him—shoulders bowed as though the crown itself ground into his bones—kept her from leaving.

“You should let them bear some of this,” she said softly. Her voice broke the hush like a ripple across still water.

Kaelen’s head lifted. For a heartbeat, the king was gone, and only the man remained—raw, exhausted, needing something no counsel could provide. “They are wolves who circle and wait for me to stumble. I cannot give them that satisfaction.”

Eria crossed the chamber, tails brushing the floor like pale silk. She set her satchel on the table and drew closer until she stood beside him. “And yet you bleed.”

He stiffened, but when she reached for his sleeve, he did not stop her. She rolled the fabric back to reveal the bruises darkening his arm from training, the faint cut hidden at his wrist from an earlier clash. His silence was answer enough.

Eria exhaled through her nose, the sound closer to a growl. “You would command an army while pretending you are stone. But even stone cracks when the storms are endless.”

His eyes caught hers, burning with both defiance and surrender. “And you, fox, would mend me as though I were yours.”

Her hands did not falter. She pulled free a small clay jar, dipping her fingers into the cool salve and smoothing it across the welt. His skin was hot beneath her touch, not only from strain but from something that stirred deeper. His breath hitched once—barely audible, but she heard it all the same.

“You are mine,” she murmured before she could stop herself. The words fell like sparks between them.

Kaelen’s hand shot up, closing around her wrist. He did not pull her away, only held her there, his thumb pressing against the rapid pulse at her skin. “Say that again.”

Her ears tilted back, heart hammering. “You are mine to mend,” she corrected, but the damage was done—the truth already slipped free.

Silence swelled, thick and consuming. His gaze dragged over her face, lingering at her lips before snapping back to her eyes. “Careful, Eria. A god does not take well to being claimed.”

“And yet you let me.”

The air between them shifted. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, a fragile contact charged with fire. Eria’s tails flicked restlessly, betraying the storm she held inside. Her breath mingled with his, quick, uneven, waiting for the moment either of them would break.

But he drew back first, exhaling slow through his nose, his grip softening on her wrist. “Not tonight.” His voice was hoarse, tight with restraint.

Her lips parted, an ache curling low in her stomach at the denial. Yet she nodded, pulling her hand free to finish binding his arm. The healer’s mask slipped back into place, though her heart clawed at its cage.

When she tied the final knot, he caught her hand again—not rough, but gentle, reverent almost. “You are dangerous, Eria. More dangerous than any traitor in these walls.”

“And still,” she whispered, meeting his gaze without flinching, “you call me back.”