Mira's POV
My fingers pressed against his wrist, searching desperately for a pulse.
There. Weak. Fading fast.
"No, no, no," I whispered, my hands already moving. I had to work fast. The black veins under his skin were spreading like evil spider webs, crawling toward his heart with every second.
Nightshade Tears didn't give second chances. Once it reached the heart, death came in minutes.
The boots were getting closer. The guards would be here any moment, and I'd be found kneeling over a dying royal with three corpses around me. They'd kill me before I could even explain.
But my hands didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
This is what I did. This is who I was.
Even if it killed me.
I ripped open what was left of my supplies. Most of my herbs were ruined, ground into the mud by that guard's boot. But I found one small vial that survived—silvervine extract. Not much. Maybe enough.
It had to be enough.
I crushed the last of my dried moonflower between my palms, mixing it with the silvervine. The paste turned dark purple. Good. That meant it was potent.
My hands trembled as I smeared it across his chest, directly over his heart. The black veins pulsed underneath, so close to killing him. I pressed down hard with both palms, forcing the medicine through his skin.
"Come on," I muttered. "Work. Please work."
His chest barely moved. His lips were turning blue.
I grabbed my one unbroken cloth and wiped the blood from his face. That's when I really saw him for the first time.
He was young. Maybe late twenties. Handsome in a way that made my breath catch—strong jaw, dark hair, perfect features. But it was his eyes that held me, even though they were closed. Something about his face seemed... important. Powerful.
The royal crest on his collar gleamed in the dying light. Not just any royal, then. Someone significant.
The black veins reached another inch closer to his heart.
No time for thinking. I needed to extract the poison manually, the way Master Theron taught me. It was risky—one wrong move and I'd push the poison straight into his heart instead of out.
But doing nothing meant certain death.
I pulled out my last remaining tool—a small needle, bent but still sharp. My hands steadied. They always did once I started healing. It was like my body knew this was what it was made for.
I found the pulse point on his inner wrist and made a tiny cut. Dark blood oozed out, almost black from the poison. The smell was terrible—bitter and wrong.
I pressed on either side of the cut, forcing the poisoned blood to flow faster. It burned my fingers where it touched, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
The boots were so close now. I could hear voices.
"—check every alley!"
"The Prince can't be far!"
Prince.
The word hit me like a physical blow. My hands froze for just a second.
This wasn't just any royal. This was a prince. Possibly THE prince. Crown Prince Cassian—I'd heard his name whispered in the Lower Districts. The future king. The most powerful person in the entire kingdom.
And I was touching him with my magicless, worthless hands.
The penalty for that was death. Always death.
But his pulse fluttered under my fingers like a dying bird. If I stopped now, he'd be dead in minutes.
I kept working, forcing more poisoned blood out. The black veins finally started shrinking, pulling back from his heart. The paste was working.
But too slowly. Way too slowly.
His breathing got worse. Shallower. Weaker.
"Don't you dare die," I whispered fiercely. "I didn't lose everything today just to fail at saving you. Don't. You. Dare."
I pressed harder on the wound. More blood flowed—still dark, but getting redder. Better. The poison was coming out.
A shadow fell across the alley entrance.
My heart stopped.
A palace guard stood there, silhouetted against the sunset. He stared at the scene—at me, at the Prince, at the dead guards, at the blood covering everything.
His eyes went wide with shock and fury.
"ASSASSIN!" he roared. "I FOUND THE ASSASSIN!"
"No!" I shouted back, my voice cracking. "I'm helping him! I'm a healer—"
But three more guards appeared behind him, weapons drawn. Their swords gleamed in the dying light, sharp and promising death.
I'd seen drawings of swords before but never real ones. Never pointed at me. They were so much bigger than I'd imagined. So much scarier.
Terror froze me in place.
"Step away from Crown Prince Cassian," the first guard growled, advancing slowly like I was a dangerous animal. "Now."
Crown Prince Cassian. So I'd been right. This was the heir to the throne. The future king.
And I was about to die for touching him.
But his pulse was stronger now under my fingers. The black veins were almost gone. Just a little more time. Just a few more seconds...
"I said STEP AWAY!" The guard lunged forward.
I threw myself over the Prince's body, protecting him with mine. "No! The poison isn't completely out yet! If you move him now, it'll spread to his heart and he'll die!"
Cold metal pressed against my neck. A sword. I'd never felt anything so terrifying in my life. One wrong move and my head would roll across these stones.
"You have three seconds," the guard—their captain, I realized—hissed in my ear. His breath was hot against my cheek. "Move or die. Three..."
The Prince's chest rose and fell beneath me. Still breathing. Still fighting.
"Two..."
I closed my eyes, pressing my hands harder against his wound. If I was going to die, at least I'd die doing what I loved. At least I'd die as a healer.
"One—"
"WAIT!"
A woman's voice, sharp with authority. The sword didn't move from my neck, but the captain paused.
A figure in flowing robes swept into the alley. Power radiated from her in waves that made my skin prickle. A magical healer—I could feel it in the air around her.
She took one look at the Prince and her eyes went huge. "Nightshade Tears? How is he still alive?"
"The girl," a guard said, his voice uncertain now. "We found her... treating him."
The magical healer's gaze snapped to me. She stared for a long moment, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to something calculating.
Then she knelt beside me, examining the Prince with magic I could see but not feel—golden light flowing from her hands.
"The poison is neutralized," she said slowly, like she couldn't quite believe it. "The treatment was... crude, but effective. He'll live."
Relief flooded through me so powerfully I almost collapsed. He'd live. I'd saved him.
The magical healer looked at me again, and this time I saw something dangerous in her eyes. Something that made my blood run cold.
"Though I suppose," she said carefully, "there's no need to mention a magicless girl was involved. I'll take credit for the cure. Can't have people thinking royal healers needed help from... this."
She said "this" like I was something stuck to her shoe.
My relief turned to anger. She was going to steal my work? Lie about who saved the Prince?
But the sword was still at my neck, and I was still surrounded by guards who wanted me dead.
The Prince groaned. His eyes fluttered.
Everyone froze.
Crown Prince Cassian's eyes opened—and they were the most beautiful, terrifying things I'd ever seen. Pure silver, like moonlight made solid. They were unfocused at first, clouded with pain and confusion.
Then they locked onto my face.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. His gaze pinned me in place more effectively than any sword.
For one long moment, we just stared at each other. Him barely alive on the ground. Me kneeling over him with bloody hands and a split lip, a blade at my throat.
His lips moved. Everyone leaned in to hear.
"You..." His voice came out rough as broken glass. "You saved... me..."
Hope exploded in my chest. He knew. He understood. He'd tell them the truth and I'd be safe.
But then his silver eyes rolled back and he went completely limp.
"NO!" The magical healer lunged forward, her hands glowing with power. "His heart stopped! Everyone back! I need space!"
Guards grabbed me and yanked me away from the Prince. The sword left my neck, but strong hands gripped my arms so tight I couldn't move.
I watched helplessly as the magical healer worked, pouring golden magic into the Prince's chest. Her face was tight with concentration and fear.
Please, I prayed to any god listening. Please let him live. Don't let him die after everything.
Seconds crawled by like hours.
Then the Prince gasped and his chest heaved. His heart was beating again.
The magical healer slumped back, exhausted. "He's stable. We need to get him to the palace immediately."
Guards rushed forward with a stretcher. They lifted the Prince carefully, treating him like precious glass. The magical healer walked beside them, her hands glowing softly as she monitored his condition.
No one mentioned me. No one looked at me.
It was like I didn't exist.
Captain Reeves turned to me, his face cold as winter stone. "You're under arrest for touching royalty without permission. That's a crime punishable by death."
The words didn't make sense at first. I'd saved him. I'd given up my last supplies, risked my life, worked a miracle with almost nothing.
And they were going to kill me for it.
"But I saved his life," I whispered.
"You TOUCHED him," the captain spat back. "You, a magicless commoner, put your worthless hands on the Crown Prince. That alone is worth execution."
Two guards grabbed me. I was too shocked to fight back.
They dragged me away from the alley, away from the Prince I'd saved, away from any hope of justice.
The last thing I saw before they hauled me around the corner was my ruined medicine bag, lying abandoned in the mud.
Everything I was, everything I had, left behind like garbage.
Then darkness swallowed me whole.