Chapter 8 CHAPTER 8
Tessa's POV
One week later
"Deep breath."
I inhaled slowly, trying not to wince as Meira’s fingers pressed against my ribs. The ache was there, dull and distant, but nothing like the screaming agony from a week ago.
"Good." She hummed thoughtfully and moved her hands lower. "Any sharp pain? Tenderness?"
"No." My voice came out soft and unsure, as if speaking too loudly might somehow break whatever fragile progress my body had made.
Meira’s examination was thorough and clinical. She checked every bruise, every mark, every place where skin had torn and bone had threatened to break. Her touch was gentle, so different from the brutal hands that had put me in this condition.
Don't think about that.
But the memories came anyway. They always did.
His hands. His claws. The feeling of being split apart.
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the images back down.
"Turn around, child. Let me see your back."
I obeyed, shifting carefully on the bed until my spine faced her. The nightgown slipped down my shoulders, exposing the claw marks.
His marks.
I felt Meira’s fingers trace each line, feather-light and barely there.
"Remarkable," she murmured. "The lacerations have closed completely. Clean edges, minimal scarring." She paused. "You heal faster than any wolfless I’ve treated. Faster than most wolves, even."
Lucky me.
The thought tasted bitter.
"The bruising on your throat has faded as well." Her fingers moved to my neck, pressing gently. "Any difficulty swallowing? Breathing?"
"No."
"Pain when I press here?"
"A little. Not much."
She made a satisfied sound and stepped back. I heard her moving around the room, glass clinking and fabric rustling.
"You can cover yourself now."
I pulled the nightgown back up and adjusted it over my shoulders. When I turned around, Meira was washing her hands in the basin, her expression thoughtful.
"Well?" I asked quietly. "How bad is it?"
She dried her hands on a cloth and turned to face me. "Honestly? You're in far better condition than you should be." Her gray eyes swept over me, assessing. "Your internal injuries have healed. The bruising is minimal. Your mobility has returned. You walked to the window yesterday without assistance."
I had. It had taken everything I had, and I had been trembling by the time I reached it. But I had done it.
"The soreness will linger for another week or two," Meira continued. "And you will need to continue taking it easy. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity. But..." She paused and met my eyes. "You’re healed, Tessa. Or as healed as you can be, given what you endured."
Healed.
The word should have brought relief, even joy.
Instead, it settled in my chest like a stone.
Because if I was healed, that meant…
He could come back.
My breath caught.
"Child?" Meira stepped closer, concern creasing her weathered face. "Are you alright?"
I forced myself to nod. "Yes. I'm... I'm fine. Just relieved."
Liar.
But Meira didn’t push. She simply smiled, small and genuine, and patted my hand.
"You’ve been a model patient. Obedient. Quiet. You’ve let me do my work without complaint." Her expression softened. "That has made my job considerably easier."
What else could I have done? Scream? Fight?
There was nowhere to run. No one to help me.
So I had stayed still, let her poke and prod and stitch me back together. Because what choice did I have?
"I’ll need to inform His Majesty of your recovery," Meira said as she gathered her supplies.
My stomach dropped.
"You... you have to tell him?"
She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "Of course. He has been waiting for word of your condition."
Waiting.
The word echoed in my head, hollow and ominous.
"Has he..." I swallowed hard. "Has he asked about me since... since last week?"
Meira’s hands stilled. For a moment she didn’t answer.
Then: "No, child. He has not."
Relief and something else, something I refused to name, twisted in my chest.
He hasn’t asked. He doesn’t care.
Good. That’s good.
Meira finished packing her bag, her movements brisk and efficient. "I will leave you to rest. If you need anything, anything at all, ring the bell. A servant will come."
"Wait."
She paused at the door and turned back.
"When you tell him..." My voice came out smaller than I intended. "When you tell His Majesty I’m healed... what happens then?"
Meira’s expression grew carefully neutral. "I don’t know, child. That is not my decision to make."
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
Meira offered one last reassuring smile before slipping through the door. It clicked shut with a finality that made my chest ache.
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
I sat there on the edge of the bed, hands folded in my lap, staring at the stone floor. The patterns in the gray rock had become familiar over the past week. Every crack, every discoloration. I had traced them with my eyes a hundred times, searching for meaning in randomness.
What happens now?
The question circled endlessly.
My mind drifted back, unwanted and unstoppable, to the throne room in my father’s castle. The way he had looked at me with those cold, empty eyes. No warmth. No hesitation.
"You leave by dawn."
Like I was livestock. A commodity to be traded.
And Thea…
Her smile when I had walked in on her with Lucien. That cruel, satisfied smirk. She had done it on purpose. Taken him just to prove she could. Just to watch me break.
"I was tired of hearing about him."
My fingers curled into the fabric of my nightgown.
And Lucien, the man who had whispered promises in the dark. Who had held my hand and sworn he would protect me. Who had looked me in the eyes and lied.
He had not even tried to stop them when the guards came.
A bitter laugh tried to claw its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down.
They all betrayed you. Every single one.
Father. Sister. Lover.
The people who were supposed to care. Supposed to protect.
Instead, they had used me. Discarded me. Sent me to die.
I felt the familiar burn behind my eyes, tears threatening to spill.
No.
I blinked hard and forced them back.
No more crying.
I had cried enough. Sobbed until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen. Screamed into pillows until my voice gave out.
What had it changed?
Nothing.
Tears did not bring back lost things. Did not undo betrayals. Did not make monsters less monstrous.
So what was the point?
I took a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs, and released it just as slowly.
Accept it.
The words felt foreign. Wrong.
But what choice did I have?
I could not go back. I could not run. I could not fight.
All I could do was survive whatever came next.
Just like you survived him.
The thought should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
Because surviving didn’t mean living. It meant existing. Breathing. Waiting for the next blow to fall.
Is that enough?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know anything anymore.
I sat there, wrapped in silence and firelight, feeling the weight of everything I had lost pressing down on my shoulders.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
I just let it settle.
This is your life now. Accept it.
\---
The door opened.
I looked up, expecting a servant with a meal tray.
It was Meira.
Her face was pale, drawn, the way it had been that first night when she had worked frantically to keep me alive.
My stomach dropped.
"Child." Her voice was carefully controlled, too controlled. "His Majesty has summoned you."
The world tilted.
No.
My heart slammed against my ribs, so hard it hurt.
"W... what?" The word came out strangled.
"He has returned to the castle." Meira stepped into the room, her hands clasped in front of her. "He wants to see you. Now."
Now.
Blood roared in my ears. My hands began to shake.
"I... I can’t..." My voice cracked. "Please, I..."
"You must." Meira’s expression softened with something like pity. "I’m sorry, Tessa. But when the King summons, you obey."
Obey.
Of course.
Because I had no choice. I had never had a choice.
My legs felt weak, boneless, as if they might give out if I tried to stand.
"Where?" The word barely made it past my lips. "Where does he want to see me?"
"The throne room."
The throne room.
Not his chambers.
The small mercy of that should have brought relief. It didn’t.
"I’ll help you dress," Meira said gently, already moving toward the wardrobe.
I watched her pull out a simple gown, soft gray fabric with a modest cut, and lay it across the bed.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He’s back. He’s back and he wants to see you.
"Tessa." Meira’s voice cut through the panic spiraling in my head. "Breathe, child. You need to breathe."
I tried. The air caught in my throat, sharp and painful.
He could kill you. This could be it.
"Come." Meira held out her hand. "Let’s get you ready."
I stared at her hand for a long moment.
Then, slowly, I took it.