The grand doors of the castle flung open with a violent crash, echoing down the halls like a storm. Kaelen’s boots thundered against the marble floors, soaked in crimson. In his arms, Avelyn’s limp form was barely moving—her lips pale, her breath faint and shallow.
"HEALER!" he roared again, his voice raw, ragged, almost unrecognizable.
Servants scattered, maids weeping as they caught sight of the blood-stained queen, and guards sprinted in all directions.
The royal healer, Master Eryas, came rushing from his chamber, his robes fluttering behind him. He saw Avelyn and his eyes went wide.
"Put her here! Quickly!"
Kaelen laid her gently on the plush treatment bed in the healer’s quarters, his hands trembling. "Do something! Save her!"
Eryas began examining her immediately—checking her
