Chapter 105 Three days
Samael sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, his fingers brushing lightly against Beau’s—no, Alberto’s cheek. The boy’s skin was clammy, his breathing shallow but steady. His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling him under.
“Don’t sleep yet,” Samael murmured, voice low but firm. “Not until she’s seen you.”
Alberto groaned softly, eyelids twitching. “Feels like I’ve been run over by a pack of stampeding bulls…”
“You look like it too,” Samael said, managing a faint smirk.
The door creaked open.
Mira entered without knocking, her healer’s satchel slung over one shoulder, her expression unreadable but focused. She set the bag down with a thud and moved to Alberto’s side in two swift steps.
“Lift his tunic,” she ordered Samael, already pulling vials and bandages from her kit.
Samael obeyed, carefully peeling back the bloodstained fabric to reveal the wound, a deep puncture just below the ribs, edges blackened from silver poisoning. Mira hissed through her teeth.
“He’s lucky Ethan’s aim was off by half an inch,” she muttered. “Another breath to the left and his liver would’ve been shredded.”
She uncorked a vial of iridescent green liquid and poured it directly onto the wound. Alberto arched off the cot with a choked cry, fingers clawing at the sheets.
“Hold him down,” Mira snapped.
Samael pressed a hand gently but firmly on Alberto’s chest. “Easy. It’ll pass.”
Alberto panted, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t fight. He never did.
Mira worked quickly cleansing, stitching, applying poultices laced with moonroot and ashbloom. Her hands moved with practiced precision, never faltering, never hesitating. When she finally tied off the last bandage, she sat back, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist.
“Samael,” she said, not looking at him. “Go keep guard outside. No one enters, not guards, not servants, not even Darius. Especially not Fernando.”
Samael stood slowly. “What if Fernando—”
“If Fernando comes,” she cut in, finally meeting his gaze, “tell him I’ll send for him when it’s safe.”
He nodded once and turned toward the door.
“Samael,” she added quietly. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer. Just closed the door behind him.
Outside, he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the corridor. Minutes stretched into hours. The infirmary remained silent. No footsteps approached. No voices rose. Only the distant echo of wind through the high windows.
Then finally the door opened.
Mira stepped out, her shoulders slightly slumped but her expression calm.
“He’s fine,” she said, voice low. “Stable. The venom’s neutralized, the silver residue purged. But he’ll need a few days of rest. No running helter-skelter, no sneaking into training rooms, no playing hero.”
Samael exhaled, tension leaving his frame. “Understood.”
Mira studied him for a moment. “I’m going to see Fernando. I’ll request a three-day leave permit for Alberto in disguise. Officially, he’ll be assisting me in securing rare herbs from the northern ridge. Unofficially…” She trailed off, then gave a small, knowing smile. “He’ll be hiding in plain sight.”
Samael nodded. “Good plan.”
“I’ll tell Fernando it’s urgent,” she continued. “He won’t question it. Not after today.”
Samael glanced past her into the dim room where Alberto lay still, finally sleeping without pain. “Will he be alone?”
“No,” Mira said. “You’re staying with him.”
Samael blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she said, stepping closer. “He trusts you. And right now, trust is rarer than those herbs I’m supposedly collecting.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “Keep him safe. Keep him quiet. And for the love of the old gods, don’t let him near a sword.”
Samael gave a dry chuckle. “I’ll try.”
Mira turned to leave, then paused. “Oh and if Eliana shows up asking for ‘Beau’… tell her he’s already gone.”
With that, she walked down the corridor, her robes whispering against the stone floor.
Samael watched her go, then re-entered the infirmary, closing the door softly behind him.
Inside, Alberto stirred, eyes half-open.
“Mira…?” he whispered.
“She’s gone,” Samael said, pulling the chair close again. “But she got you three days' rest. Just stay here and recover. And for once… just listen.”
Alberto managed a weak smile. “Only if you promise not to leave.”
Samael sat down, took his hand, and squeezed it gently. “Not a chance.”
Mira entered Fernando’s study without announcement. He was seated at his desk, reviewing dispatches from the northern border, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look up when she stepped inside.
“Alpha,” she said, voice calm but firm. “I need a three-day leave permit for Alberto.”
Fernando’s pen still. He lifted his gaze slowly. “Alberto?”
“Yes,” Mira replied. “Him.”
Fernando set the pen down. “Why him? You have dozens of trained assistants. And after what happened today, I’d think you’d want someone reliable, not a servant who’s already been punished for insubordination.”
“Precisely because he’s been punished,” Mira said, stepping forward. “He’s quiet, obedient, and knows how to follow orders without asking questions. More importantly, he’s familiar with the old trails beyond the ridge. I need someone to help me gather rare herbs, moonpetal roots and duskwillow bark from the northern grove. The terrain is unstable, and the paths are warded. I can’t risk sending a guard who’ll trigger the ancestral traps and moreover his the forest keeper.”
Fernando leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Alberto’s never been assigned to herb runs before.”
“No,” Mira admitted.
Fernando was silent for a long moment. Then he gave a short nod. “Fine. Send him with the supply troops heading north at dawn. Three days. Not a moment longer. And if he steps out of line, I’ll hold you responsible.”
Mira bowed slightly. “Understood, Alpha.”
She turned to leave.
“And Mira,” Fernando added, his voice low, “don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’ve shielded him lately. Be careful where your loyalties lie.”
Mira didn’t turn back. “My loyalty has always been to this pack, Alpha. Nothing more.”
She left the study and returned to her quarters. Within minutes, her personal aid, Liora, appeared in the doorway.
“The princess has been cared for,” Liora reported. “The venom’s effects have subsided. She’s resting, though still weak.”
Mira waved a hand without looking up from the satchel she was packing. “Good. See that she stays confined to her room. No visitors. No messages. And under no circumstances is she to be given access to silver or blades.”
Liora nodded. “Yes, healer.”
“You’re dismissed,” Mira said.
Liora bowed and exited quietly, closing the door behind her.
Alone, Mira paused, fingers tightening around a small vial of clear liquid Alberto’s true name ink, hidden beneath layers of bandages in her kit. She exhaled slowly.
Three days.
That was all they needed.
And Fernando would never suspect a thing.