Chapter 104 Go Ahead And Heal Yourself
Fernando rose from his seat without a word. The moment his boots hit the stone, Darius and Samael were already on their feet beside him, flanking him like shadows. The crowd parted instinctively as he strode toward the center of the yard, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid with authority.
He stopped just outside the scorched circle, eyes fixed on the bound figure of Ethan, who still glared up at him with defiance burning in his gaze.
“Ethan Rourke,” Fernando said, voice low but carrying across the silent yard, “you have violated the sanctity of the Mate Duel. You attacked a victor after judgment was passed. For that, you will receive one hundred and fifty lashes.”
A murmur rippled through the onlookers.
“And,” Fernando continued, colder now, “one of your hands will be severed. Let it serve as a reminder that discipline is not optional in this court.”
Ethan said nothing. He only bared his teeth in a silent snarl.
Fernando turned then, his gaze falling on Beau, who lay half-supported by medics, blood soaking through his tunic, face pale as ash. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
“Beau Crante will be treated,” Fernando announced. “But before any healing is administered, he will remove his mask.”
Samael stiffened. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and knelt beside Beau, gently pulling him away from the medics. “Alpha,” he said, voice tight, “he’s dying. Can’t this wait until he’s stable?”
“No,” Fernando replied flatly. “Rules are made for a purpose. And they are meant to be followed by everyone.”
He didn’t wait for further argument. In one swift motion, he drew a small ceremonial knife from his belt and crossed the space between them in three strides. Kneeling, he reached for Beau’s face, fingers finding the edge of what appeared to be skin but wasn’t.
With a single, precise cut, he slit along the jawline.
The silicone mask peeled open slightly, revealing a glimpse of something probably his real face.
But before Fernando could see more, Samael moved.
He yanked off his own coat and wrapped it tightly around Beau’s head and shoulders, shielding him completely from view. His body angled protectively, blocking Fernando’s line of sight entirely.
Fernando stood slowly, eyes narrowing. “Step aside, Samael.”
“No,” Samael said, voice quiet but firm. “Not until he’s safe.”
Darius, who had been watching silently from a few paces back, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing between Samael and Fernando. “Why are you protecting this… so-called Beau guy? You’ve never done that for anyone before.”
Before Samael could answer, a new voice cut through the tension.
“I asked him to.”
All heads turned.
Mira stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, her healer’s robes pristine despite the chaos. She bowed deeply before Fernando, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Alpha,” she said, voice steady, “I personally requested Samael to guard Beau’s identity. It was part of a promise I made to him long ago when he saved my life during the border skirmish with the Ashen Fangs. He asked only one thing in return: that his true face remain hidden unless he chose to reveal it himself.”
She lifted her gaze, meeting Fernando’s eyes without flinching. “I ask now for an exemption. Not out of defiance, but out of honor. The debt was mine to bear, and I called it in when I brought him here under the name Beau Crante.”
Fernando studied her for a long moment. Suspicion flickered in his eyes, but he said nothing. Around them, the air remained thick with unspoken questions.
Finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Take him to the infirmary,” he said, sheathing the knife. “Get him treated. But Mira this isn’t over.”
Mira bowed again. “Understood, Alpha.”
Samael didn’t waste a second. He lifted Beau carefully into his arms, cradling him like something fragile, and turned toward the eastern wing without another word.
Fernando watched them go, his expression unreadable.
Darius shifted beside him. “You really think he’s who we think he is?”
Fernando didn’t answer.
He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, as the weight of secrets pressed down on the yard once more.
Fernando stood at the center of the yard, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence like steel. “The final match is postponed,” he declared, eyes fixed on the gathered crowd. “It will resume only when Beau Crante has fully recovered.”
A sharp rustle of fabric cut through the air before anyone could react.
Eliana rose from her seat, spine rigid, eyes blazing. “That’s not how the Mate Duel works,” she said, voice ringing with cold authority. “Nowhere in the ancient code does it say the trial can be shifted or postponed once it has commenced. The rules are clear. The victor must face the next round within the same moon cycle.”
Fernando turned toward her, jaw tightening. Before he could speak, Mira stepped forward, her healer’s robes swaying gently with each step.
“I’m sure the princess isn’t blind,” Mira said, voice calm but edged with steel, “or dumb enough to ignore the fact that Beau was stabbed with a silver dagger laced with wolfsbane extract. Or did you miss the part where he collapsed bleeding out?”
Eliana’s lips curled into a sneer. “If he’s truly a werewolf, his wolf would’ve healed him by now. That he hasn’t only proved he’s weak or worse, not one of us at all.”
Mira laughed out a short, sharp sound that carried more contempt than amusement. “Oh, wonderful. The princess just confirmed her own dumbness.”
Before anyone could react, Mira bent down and picked up the silver dagger from the ground where the guards had dropped it. She walked slowly toward Eliana, the blade glinting in the fading light.
Eliana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare—”
Mira moved like lightning.
In one fluid motion, she slashed the blade across Eliana’s left cheek not deep, but enough to draw blood. A thin red line appeared instantly, stark against Eliana’s pale skin.
Eliana screamed, more from shock than pain, and lunged forward, claws extending from her fingertips.
Mira didn’t flinch.
She slapped Eliana once, hard then again before the princess could recover. The sound cracked through the yard like thunder.
“Ordinary wolves like you,” Mira said, voice low and dangerous, “don’t get to disrespect me.”
She stepped back, tossing the dagger onto the ground between them. “Go ahead. Heal yourself.”
Eliana clutched her cheek, fury twisting her features. But then her knees buckled.
She gasped, staggering backward. Her breath came in ragged bursts. A cough tore from her throat and blood splattered the stone beneath her feet.
Her eyes widened in horror. “What… what did you do?”
Mira crossed her arms. “The dagger wasn’t just laced with wolfsbane. It was coated in my venom. Extracted from the Black Fang viper. Only I carry the antidote. And I don’t give it to arrogant little pups who think they can spit on tradition and still wear a crown.”
Fernando stepped forward sharply. “Mira! That’s enough. You’ve gone too far.”
Mira turned to him, unrepentant. “I’ll accept any punishment you give me, Alpha. But I’ve had enough of her arrogance. She disrespected the duel, attacked a victor, mocked a wounded warrior, and questioned your judgment all in front of your entire court. If anyone’s broken the code, it’s her.”
Fernando’s expression darkened. He glanced at Eliana, now kneeling, trembling, blood dripping from her mouth. Then he turned to the guards.
“Take her to the infirmary,” he ordered.
Mira raised a hand. “No.”
Everyone turned to her.
“She will not be treated in the infirmary,” Mira said firmly. “She’ll be cared for by my personal aid in her own quarters. She only got a slight cut. The venom will burn, yes, but it won’t kill her. Not unless she tries to shift. And if she does, well…” Mira shrugged. “That’ll be on her.”
Fernando studied Mira for a long moment. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. See to it.”
Mira bowed slightly, then turned on her heel and walked away without another word.