Elara's POV
The carriage hits a bump and I slam against the wooden wall, still blind under the hood.
My wrists are bound with something cold—not rope, but metal chains that burn against my skin. Magic-suppressing chains. I can feel my power being squeezed, compressed, trapped inside me like a scream I can't release.
I'm not alone in the carriage. I can hear breathing—at least two guards sitting across from me. Maybe more.
"How long until we reach the palace?" one guard asks.
"Twenty minutes," another replies. "If she tries anything, knock her out. The captain said we need her conscious but he didn't say she had to be comfortable."
My heart pounds so hard I think they can hear it.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until I'm inside the palace that haunts my nightmares. The palace where my mother died screaming.
I need to escape. Now.
I test the chains carefully, trying to feel for any weakness. Nothing. They're solid, expertly locked. Without my magic, I'm just a regular girl against trained soldiers.
But maybe I don't need magic.
I let myself slump sideways like I'm unconscious, my body going completely limp. I hear the guards shift.
"Is she dead?" one asks nervously.
"Check her."
Footsteps. A guard kneels beside me, pulling off the hood to check my face. The second his hand touches my shoulder, I move.
I slam my forehead into his nose. He screams. I twist, bringing my chained hands up to smash into his throat. He chokes, falling backward.
"She's awake!" the other guard yells.
I lunge for the carriage door, my hands scrabbling for the handle. Almost there—
Someone grabs my hair and yanks me backward so hard I see stars. I'm slammed face-first into the floor. A knee drives into my back, crushing the air from my lungs.
"Enough!" a cold voice barks.
Captain Kieran.
I didn't realize he was in the carriage. He's been sitting in the shadows, watching the whole time.
He pulls me up by the chains, his grip iron-strong. His gray eyes bore into mine with zero sympathy.
"Try that again and I'll break both your legs," he says quietly. "You can still heal with broken legs."
"Go to hell," I spit.
"I'm already there." He shoves me back onto the bench and this time, two guards hold my shoulders. "Let's make this very simple, Veylan. You're going to heal the king. You don't have a choice. Fighting just makes this harder for everyone."
"You want me to save the man who murdered my mother?"
"Your mother was executed for treason—"
"She wasn't a traitor!" The words explode out of me. "She was a healer just like me! She tried to help people and they killed her for it!"
Kieran's expression doesn't change. "Then you should understand what happens when you refuse an order from the throne."
"I understand perfectly. You're all murderers serving a monster."
For the first time, something flickers in Kieran's eyes. Anger? Pain? It's gone too fast to tell.
"The Dark King is the only thing holding this kingdom together," he says flatly. "If he dies, the entire realm collapses into war. Every territory will fight for power. Millions will die. Children will starve in the streets. Is that what you want?"
"I want justice for my mother!"
"Justice?" Kieran leans closer. "There's no such thing. There's only survival. And right now, your survival depends on saving the king."
I stare at him, hatred burning in my chest. But underneath the hatred is something worse—fear. Because he's right. I have no power here. No choice. No escape.
"Why me?" I ask finally. "There are hundreds of healers in this kingdom. Why drag me out of hiding?"
Kieran is quiet for a moment. Then: "Because you're the only one who can touch corrupted magic without dying. The curse eating the king alive—it's ancient, twisted, wrong. Every healer who's tried to extract it has been destroyed. Their magic turned against them. Some went mad. Some just... stopped existing."
Ice runs down my spine. "And you think I'll survive it?"
"Honestly? I don't know. But you're our last option." He sits back. "The king has three days. Maybe less. If you can stabilize him, buy us time, we might find a real cure. If you can't..." He doesn't finish the sentence.
If I can't, we both die.
The carriage slows. Through the small window, I see we're passing through massive iron gates. Guards in black armor stand at attention. Beyond them rises the palace—a mountain of black stone and twisted towers that seems to swallow the dim light.
My stomach twists with terror.
"One more thing," Kieran says as the carriage stops. "There are rules in the palace. Break them and you'll wish we'd executed you quickly."
"What rules?"
"Never look directly at the king's eyes. Never speak unless given permission. Never touch him longer than absolutely necessary for healing. The king's curse makes him... unstable. Dangerous. If you trigger him, he could kill you without even meaning to."
The carriage door opens. Cold air rushes in, smelling like stone and something darker—old magic, the kind that leaves stains.
Kieran pulls me out. My legs almost give out when I see the palace up close. It's even more terrifying than I remembered. The walls seem to pulse with darkness. Shadows move where there's nothing to cast them.
"Move," Kieran orders, pushing me forward.
We enter through a side door. The hallway beyond is freezing, lit by strange blue flames that don't give off heat. Our footsteps echo. I hear whispers but see no one.
Then I hear screaming.
It's distant, coming from somewhere deep in the palace. Someone is screaming in agony, their voice raw and broken.
"What is that?" I whisper.
"The king," Kieran says grimly. "The curse is eating him alive. He's been screaming for two days straight."
My blood runs cold. What kind of monster screams in pain? Aren't monsters supposed to be the ones causing pain?
We climb stairs—so many stairs my legs burn. We pass servants who press themselves against the walls, their faces white with fear. We pass guards who won't meet my eyes.
Finally, we stop in front of massive black doors covered in strange symbols that hurt to look at.
"This is it," Kieran says. "The king's private chambers. Once you go through these doors, everything changes. You understand?"
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
Kieran signals to the guards. They push open the doors.
The room beyond is huge and dark. Black curtains block the windows. The air is thick with the smell of blood and something worse—rotting magic.
And in the center of the room, on an enormous bed, is a man.
Even from the doorway, I can feel the power radiating from him. Dark, twisted, overwhelming power that makes my magic recoil in terror.
"Approach him," Kieran orders. "Now."
I force my feet to move. Each step feels like walking toward my own death.
As I get closer, I can finally see him clearly.
King Asheron Noctis. The Dark King. The immortal tyrant who's ruled for three hundred years.
He's younger than I expected—maybe thirty in appearance, though I know he's ancient. His face would be handsome if it wasn't twisted in agony. Black veins spider across his bare chest, pulsing with sick light. His skin burns with fever. His silver hair is soaked with sweat.
And he's conscious.
His eyes open as I approach, and my heart stops.
They're completely black. No white, no iris—just endless darkness that seems to pull at my soul.
He looks at me and for one terrifying second, I forget how to breathe.
"You," he rasps, his voice barely human. "You're... different."
I don't respond. I'm not supposed to speak.
His hand shoots out faster than I can track, grabbing my wrist in an iron grip. I gasp. His skin burns like fire.
"Your magic," he whispers. "I can feel it. Light and shadow. Both. How?"
Kieran steps forward. "Your Majesty, she's here to heal you—"
"GET OUT!" The king's voice explodes with power. The windows shatter. Guards fly backward. Only Kieran manages to stay on his feet.
"Everyone OUT!" Asheron roars. "Leave the healer. NOW!"
Kieran looks at me. For the first time, I see real fear in his eyes.
Then he leaves.
The doors slam shut behind him.
I'm alone with the Dark King.
His black eyes lock on mine, and I realize three things at once:
First, his curse isn't just killing him—it's driving him mad.
Second, he's far more powerful than anyone knows, even half-dead.
And third, the hand gripping my wrist is shaking.
Not with rage.
With desperation.
"Please," the most feared man in the kingdom whispers, his voice breaking. "Please help me. I don't want to die like this."