Chapter 118 118
The nurse's words don't just reach my ears; they tear through me.
For a heartbeat, I couldn't move. Everything dulled into a hollow ringing. Then my instinct took over, and I ran.
Zephyr was beside me at once; despite being old, he was no frail man. Servants flatten themselves against the walls as we pass. Someone drops a tray; metal crashes behind us. I didn't look back. I didn't care!
Ares isn't breathing.
The sentence repeats in my skull like a curse of its own.
Not him. Not my son. Not after everything!
We take the turn toward the apothecary wing too fast. I nearly slam into a guard who scrambles to open the doors. The smell hits me first when we enter: crushed herbs, smoke, bitter tonics, and underneath it all, the sharp scent of death.
I clench my fist.
The doctors gathered around a small table.
Ares lies in the center, his tiny body swallowed by blankets, and his skin is too pale.
Three physicians hover over him, whispering to one another in tight, panicked tones.
His lips were faintly tinged with blue. His chest, gods! His chest barely moves.
"Can someone tell me what's going on!" My voice cracks across the room like a whip.
They all freeze. Then an older doctor, gray at the temples, steps forward and bows deeply. I hate how calm he looks.
"My lord," he says carefully, "the child has been struck by a cursed spell."
The words feel unreal.
"A what?" My voice drops, dangerous.
"A curse, Your Majesty. A dark working. We felt the residue when we tried to rouse him."
My gaze flies back to Ares. His small fingers twitch weakly, then fall still again. I cross the room in two strides and grip the edge of the table. Tears sting my eyes.
"Remove it!" I ordered. "Undo it! That is your purpose here!"
The doctor swallows. "This is not a simple malady or poison. It is… crafted."
My heart pounds harder. "By who?"
He hesitates. That hesitation tells me everything before he even speaks.
"There are rumors," he says, "of similar afflictions in the outer villages. Livestock failing. Children falling into unnatural sleep. All tied to one name."
I already know.
But I need him to say it.
"The Scarlet Witch."
The room tilts.
For a moment, I'm no longer in the apothecary. My thoughts drifted far and snapped back with a harsh snap.
I look down at Ares again. His face is peaceful in a terrible way, like a child who won't awake. I brush my thumb against his cheek. He was hot like fire. I ran my hand through his hair, praying silently.
His body felt like heat trapped with nowhere to go.
"No," I murmur. "No, he was fine this morning. He laughed. He… he gripped my finger."
My throat tightens. I remember the way his eyes followed light, the little grunt he made when displeased, and the way he quieted when I held him close to my chest before going to train.
Ezriel stirs inside me, agitated, distressed. My wolf recognizes a threatened pup, blood or not.
"Save him!!" I say, louder now, the command breaking at the edges. "I don't care what it costs. Gold! Land! Titles! Take it! Just fix this!"
The doctors exchange glances that scrape at my nerves.
"We are trying, my lord," one says. "But curses woven at that level… they root into his blood. We can sustain him, but removing it is another matter."
Sustain him.
As if he is already halfway gone.
A quiet rage begins to simmer beneath my skin. Why him? He is a child, an innocent….oh gods.
I shouldn't have left him alone in the palace. I've always known he was in danger, but I never thought one moment away from him would do this!
A hand touches my arm. I could tell it was Zephyr without looking, with that firm, grounding touch.
"Your majesty," he says quietly.
I don't look at him. My eyes stay on Ares' small, fragile form. "Not now."
"It must be now."
Something in his tone makes me turn. His gaze is sharp, calculating, but not cold. Urgent.
"The apothecary has limits," he says.
I hate the truth in that. I hate that I already feel it.
"I know a shaman," he continues. "Old. Older than most courts. He does not answer to palace herbs or healer guilds. He works in spirits and curses."
"Can he save Ares?" I ask.
Zephyr does not sugarcoat. "He can try where others cannot."
I look back at the child. His breathing stutters, so faint it barely lifts the cloth.
My chest tightens painfully.
I think of the first time I held him. How light he felt. How unexpected the protectiveness was. How I bound with him like he was mine. I never want to let him go. I didn't care who he was or where he came from…
"If he dies…" I whisper, not finishing the thought because I cannot.
Zephyr's voice cuts in, steady. "We will fight fate itself to prevent it."
I turn to him fully now. "Where is this shaman?"
"Beyond the eastern forests."
The Eastern fourth is as good as taking the whole day off. What chance does Ares have before he arrives
"Bring him," I say immediately.
"He does not come when summoned," Zephyr replies. "We must go to him. I'll ride immediately."
"I'll ride with you!"
"No, your majesty!" Zephyr held my shoulders. "You must stay here. You must stay with him."
My gaze flicks to Ares again. Leaving feels wrong. Staying and doing nothing feels worse.
The doctor adjusts a charm over the child's chest. Ares gives a weak, fragile inhale.
I shut my eyes, a tear threatening to fall. "Go."
Zephyr stepped back and sprinted into the darkness, shouting at the men outside.
I step back from the table with effort, like tearing myself from a piece of my own heart.
At that moment, an angry thought settles in my mind.
Could it be Amarien?