The sun was just beginning to dip behind the black spires of the kingdom when the guards finally returned with Lyra. Selene who was wrapped in a thick cloak to shield her from the evening chill, stood in the doorway of the kingdom's grand medical ward while her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.
The ward itself was quiet, far removed from the cold cruelty that marked the rest of the fortress. Soft lanterns lit the room in a golden haze, and the scent of healing herbs hung in the air. For a moment, Selene stood frozen, unsure whether her legs would carry her forward.
Then she saw her.
Lyra was barely conscious, her small frame swaddled in thin, tattered garments. Her hair hung in limp, matted strands around her face. A deep bruise marred her temple, and her wrists were red and raw from the shackles she had been forced to wear. Selene's throat closed in a rush of sorrow and fury so fierce it left her shaking.
She hurried to her sister's side, she had forgotten the ache in her shoulders as the fear that had gripped her earlier dissolved into a single, all-consuming purpose. Kneeling beside the cot, Selene brushed Lyra's hair back from her face with trembling fingers.
"Lyra," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm here."
Lyra stirred faintly, her eyelids fluttering. Recognition sparked in her pale blue eyes, and a small, broken gasp escaped her lips.
"Selene..." she croaked, her voice hoarse with thirst and pain.
Selene caught her hand gently, mindful of the bruises that marred her sister's skin. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. Now wasn't the time for crying. Now was the time for action.
Khael stood silently in the doorway, watching them. His face was unreadable, but his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He hated seeing Selene like this—broken, hurting—and hated even more that he hadn't been the one to stop it before it began.
At a nod from Khael, two healers hurried forward, carrying fresh linens, warm water, and jars of soothing salves. Selene moved aside only enough to allow them to work, never letting go of Lyra's hand.
She listened intently as the healers murmured to one another. Lyra was dehydrated, underfed, her body battered but mercifully free of deeper injuries. She would recover, they said, with rest and care.
The relief that crashed through Selene was so intense she nearly sagged to the floor.
Khael moved to stand behind her to prevent her from falling. Without a word, he placed a hand on her good shoulder, grounding her, offering his silent support.
The hours blurred together as Selene helped the healers clean and bandage Lyra's wounds. She coaxed water past her sister's cracked lips, whispered promises of safety and comfort into her ear, and refused to leave her side even for a moment.
By the time Lyra drifted into another deep healing sleep, Selene's body ached with exhaustion. Her injured shoulder throbbed dully, but she ignored it. She simply sat there, holding Lyra's hand, unwilling to let go.
Khael crouched beside her, his hand was still resting lightly on her back.
"You saved her," he said quietly, his voice was rough with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.
Selene looked at him, seeing past the imposing king to the man beneath—the man who had fought for her, who had carried her when she could no longer stand, who had unleashed all his fury on those who dared harm her.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words feeling inadequate but deeply meant.
Khael shook his head slowly. "No. You are the one who saved her. You would have fought the entire world for her."
"And you fought it with me," Selene said, giving him a tired, genuine smile.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them—one forged in blood and pain and unbreakable loyalty.
Finally, Khael rose and lifted Selene into his arms before she could protest. She was too drained to argue anyway, and she leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
"You need to rest too," he murmured as he carried her back toward his quarters.
"I can't leave her," Selene whispered weakly.
"You won't," Khael promised. "I will post my best guards here. No one will touch her. Not while I live."
And somehow, Selene believed him. She let herself be carried away, trusting him to keep his word, trusting him with the fragile, precious part of her soul she had fought so hard to protect.
When they reached his chambers, Khael laid her gently on the bed, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder. He removed the bloodstained cloak from her body, replacing it with a thick, warm blanket.
He sat beside her, watching her in the flickering firelight, his expression uncharacteristically soft.
"You are not alone anymore," he said quietly. "You have me."
Selene reached for his hand with her good one, weaving her fingers through his. She squeezed gently, her throat too tight to speak.
In Khael's arms, in the shelter of his strength, she finally allowed herself to sleep—not with fear, but with peace.
Because for the first time in a long, long time, Selene was no longer fighting alone.