Chapter 49

Esther’s POV

The first poison arrow struck at dawn.

I’d been on my way back from the hospital wing, still bleary from another night of research, when a guard came stumbling through the main doors with black veins crawling up his neck. The poison smelled metallic, like burned iron, and his breathing already rasped as two comrades half-carried him inside.

“What happened?” I asked, rushing forward.

“Ambush at the outer patrol,” one of the guards gasped. “Rogues. Poison arrows.” He eased his partner to the floor, eyes wild. “It’s spreading fast—”

“Get him to the infirmary,” I ordered. “Move!”

The corridors filled with shouts. More guards stumbled in behind the first, each bearing the same ugly black streaks along their veins. Someone cried that the palace doctors were overwhelmed, that no one knew what toxin it was.

By midday the infirmary looked like a battlefield triage unit.

The elders appeared then, their robes whispering like vultures’ wings. “Doctor Esther,” one of them said, lips pinched, “we expect you to take charge. You handled the feral case studies, surely poison is not beyond you.”

I blinked at them, fighting exhaustion. “We don’t even know what compound it is yet—”

“Find out.” The elder’s eyes gleamed. “If you fail, the guards die. If you succeed, perhaps the Alpha will finally see your value.”

So that was it. A test. A spectacle. My jaw clenched.

I turned away from them and knelt by the nearest cot, checking the guard’s pupils. My hands were steady but my stomach churned. This was Carl’s future if I failed. Another collapse, another helpless night.

“Get me a full sample of the toxin,” I snapped at an attendant. “And clear me a workspace.”

Hours blurred into night. I stripped off my outer robe, rolled my sleeves, and ground herbs until my wrists ached. My notebook filled with chemical diagrams, possible antidote pathways, frantic scratches of “liver stress” and “neurotoxin inhibition.” I set up an IV of saline to keep the worst-afflicted guards hydrated.

Sharon flickered faintly in my chest, not yet strong enough to help but nudging me onward. Don’t fail. Not again.

By the second night, my hands shook from caffeine and lack of sleep. Every few minutes another elder poked in to ask for an update, and every time I snarled back that they were interrupting my work.

A small voice inside whispered, You’re slipping. They’re watching you burn yourself out. But I couldn’t stop. If I failed here, Carl’s hopes would die too.

At one point my vision blurred and I grabbed the counter for support. A warm hand closed over mine. It was one of the junior healers.

“Doctor,” she said softly. “You should rest.”

“Later,” I rasped. “Prepare the next batch of bindweed extract.”

She hesitated, then obeyed.

I barely noticed the palace changing around me. Rumors of my “trial” had reached the online forums. Some called me a desperate show-off, others said I was risking lives for fame. Screenshots of my lab-stained face began circulating with captions like Gold-digging doctor finally exposed.

I shut them all out and kept grinding herbs.

By the third night, the black veins on one guard had receded slightly after my latest concoction. My heart leapt, but I kept my face neutral. The elders would seize on any sign of weakness.

I whispered to myself as I pipetted another sample. “I’m so close. I can’t stop.”

Nicholas’s POV

I’d been watching her through the security monitors for two days.

At first I told myself it was a strategy of tracking progress, assessing the antidote timeline. But Norman knew better.

You’re watching her burn herself alive, the wolf growled inside me. Do something.

I wanted to. Every time she staggered, every time her hands trembled, the urge to cross the room and steady her grew sharper. But I had no right. She wasn’t here for me; she was here because the elders had pushed her into it.

Still, there were limits.

By the second night I’d sent Dan to procure rare herbs from three neighboring packs.

“No one needs to know where they came from,” I said. “Just deliver them to the infirmary with no signature.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Alpha—”

“Do it,” I snapped. “And don’t breathe a word.”

I also sent a coded request to the lab’s night techs, instructing them to prioritize her toxin analysis. If she failed, it would not be for lack of resources.

Norman prowled under my skin. You’re helping her. Admit it.

“She’s helping the pack,” I muttered. “That’s all.”

But I wasn’t blind to the gossip swirling through the palace. Amanda had doubled her efforts, feeding bloggers pictures of Esther hunched over the lab bench, claiming she was staging a stunt to impress me. The comments ranged from vicious to lewd.

Each time I read them, my wolf snarled.

On the fourth night, I walked into the infirmary myself.

She didn’t notice me at first. Her hair had slipped from its tie, hanging around her face like a curtain. Her eyes were ringed with purple shadows. She was mixing two solutions, her hands trembling but precise.

“You’re going to collapse,” I said.

She jolted, spilling a drop onto the counter.

“Don’t do that,” she snapped.

“You need rest.”

She gave me a flat look. “If I stop now, your guards die.”

The sting of truth burned. I took a step closer.

“Then let me help.”

“You?” She almost laughed. “Since when do you care about antidotes?”

I forced myself to keep my tone even. “Since rogues started poisoning my men. What do you need?”

She hesitated. “Supply chain. I’m running out of bindweed extract and blue nettle. And I need a better centrifuge. The one here keeps jamming.”

“Done.” I turned to Dan. “You heard her.”

She blinked at me, suspicion flickering across her face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t tolerate failure,” I said.

But Norman’s voice undercut mine: Because you can’t stand to see her fall.

The next day the antidote trial began. Under my orders, the infirmary converted a whole wing into a test ward. We rotated guards on the brink of collapse through Esther’s treatment regimen, carefully monitoring vitals.

I stood at the back, arms crossed, watching her work. She barely looked at me, her focus total. But every so often her hand would shake and she’d catch herself on the counter, and I’d have to fight the urge to move.

By the end of the day, three guards showed marked improvement. The black veins faded, breathing steadied.

A murmur went through the staff. Hope.

Amanda’s plan began to crumble in real time. The same social media feeds that had mocked Esther now started to flip:

Dr. Esther saving our soldiers—heroic!

Proof she’s not just a pretty face.

Amanda who? This woman’s a real Luna!

I scrolled through the headlines with grim satisfaction. Norman rumbled approval.

The elders, sensing public opinion shifting, began praising Esther publicly.

“Our pack’s dedicated healer,” one tweeted, with a smiling photo of her bandaging a guard’s arm.

Amanda seethed. I could see it in the stiff way she walked past me in the hallways, in the new set of rumors she tried to seed about “fake lab tests” and “stage-managed miracles.”

But it was too late.

On the sixth day the antidote was declared a success. The poisoned guards were stable and recovering.

I summoned the elders and announced a formal commendation for Esther. They applauded, some reluctantly.

“She saved your guards,” I said flatly. “Remember that.”

That evening, I found her on the infirmary balcony, staring out at the training field. Her shoulders were slumped but there was a faint lift at the corner of her mouth — not pride exactly, but relief.

“You did it,” I said softly.

She turned, eyes wary. “We did it.”

I inclined my head. “Then go rest.”

For a heartbeat we stood there, the air between us buzzing with everything unspoken: gratitude, suspicion, exhaustion, the ghost of a bond neither of us dared to name.

Norman whispered, Mate, but I shoved him down.

She left without another word.

I stayed on the balcony, watching her disappear into the dim corridors, and let the night wind cut across my face.

For once, palace gossip would favor her. For once, Amanda had lost. And for once, I couldn’t deny the truth Norman kept hammering at me: each time Esther fought for my people, some part of me wanted to fight for her too.