God, the rage that consumed me at the thought of anyone daring to harm her… It was not the righteous fury of a king defending his people. It was personal.
I had to clench my fists now to stop myself from trembling with it. I shook my head sharply, forcing myself back to the present. I watched as she continued rocking, lost in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.
“Ma’am, you have to allow us to take a look at you, for your own sake,” Maravek, the royal physician, coaxed gently. But she wasn’t listening. She remained curled in on herself.
Carefully, I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, making sure my movements were slow and non-threatening, so as not to startle her further.
“I promise you, im sireli, (my beloved)” I murmured, keeping my voice low, “nobody here is going to hurt you. We’re all trying to help you.”
Her cold, lifeless grey eyes locked onto mine. There was a skepticism there so raw, so cutting, it felt like a blade to the heart. She didn’t believe me, not even a little.
I let out a slow, heavy sigh, forcing myself not to rush her.
“This is Maravek,” I continued, “the royal physician of the Court of Khragnir.
And with him is his team. The brooding, silent man standing over there,” I gestured subtly with my head, “He’s Lupercus, my second-in-command and the Prime Enforcer of this kingdom.”
I leaned closer, willing her to feel the weight of my words and the truth of them.
“I swear on my title as the supreme alpha and my life… They won’t touch you in any way you’re uncomfortable with. Not now. Not ever.”
I held her gaze steadily, letting her see every ounce of sincerity burning within me.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she stopped rocking. Her trembling hands slid down from her ears. And finally, she nodded.
A breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding whooshed from my lungs.
I gave Maravek a silent nod of approval.
“May I?” Maravek asked softly, giving her a small, tentative smile.
The nurses began setting up their instruments. I watched as Maravek approached her carefully, like one might approach a wounded, cornered creature. He took her vital signs first, using her wrist. Even from where I sat, my enhanced hearing picked up the rapid, thready beat of her heartbeat.
Maravek hummed under his breath, and scribbled something onto his notes. He moved onto anthropometric measurements next.
They carefully helped her off the bed and onto a weighing scale. Then came her height measurement, followed by another scribbled observation.
The nurses helped her back onto the bed, handling her like fragile glass. Maravek managed, after a bit of coaxing, to get her to open her mouth.
The instant she did, the room filled with a foul stench that turned my stomach.
Her teeth were yellowed, and some were chipped, her gums receded so far back it was a miracle they hadn’t bled out.
I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned white, barely restraining the roar of rage bubbling in my chest.
As Maravek made more notes, I felt like I was being gutted alive.
Helpless.
Useless.
Standing by while the proof of her torment unfolded in front of me.
I watched as he tested her neurological responses. Her reactions were sluggish, and her reflexes were dulled. She was alive… but barely.
Maravek asked her a few simple questions, trying to coax out any verbal response.
But she remained silent.
“Okay,” Maravek sighed gently, crouching to her level, “I just want to confirm a few more things.
They’re yes or no questions, alright? Nod twice for yes, shake your head for no.
If the answer involves numbers, you can show them with your fingers.
Is that okay?”
She nodded twice.
“Good,” Maravek smiled faintly. “Do you understand everything I just said?”
Another nod.
“Have you always been unable to talk?”
She shook her head.
“When was the last time you used your voice?”
She hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her frail hands, and she slowly, almost shyly, lifted three fingers.
Three.
Three years.
My stomach twisted violently. Three years since she last spoke, of suffering so profound that she had lost her voice and her very will to cry out. By the god, what had they done to her?
And more terrifying still, who exactly was “they”?
“Do you know how old you are?” Maravek asked.
Slowly, she raised both of her bony hands. Two fingers on one hand, a single finger on the other.
Twenty-one.
A lump formed in my throat. So young. And yet her eyes had seen more darkness than most seasoned soldiers ever would.
“Do you know your name?” Maravek continued.
She nodded.
“Can you write it down for me?”
Another nod.
One of the nurses quickly handed Maravek a notepad and a pen, which he then offered to her.
The room fell into a taut, breathless silence as we all watched her small, trembling hand grasp the pen. Her grip was awkward, almost painful to watch, as she scrawled something across the page with rough, uncoordinated strokes.
When she was done, she handed the notepad back to Maravek, dropping her hand back onto her lap like a wilted flower.
Maravek squinted down at the note, tilting his head.
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