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Elara hesitated outside Lysander's door, her hand poised to knock. However, after a moment of silence, she realized there would be no answer. With a furrowed brow, she gently pushed the door open and stepped inside, the creak of the hinges breaking the stillness of the room.
The scene that greeted her sent a wave of concern coursing through her veins. Lysander was seated at a small table, his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. His pallor was ashen, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow, despite the coolness of the room.
"Lysander," Elara called softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she approached him. "How are you feeling?"
Lysander looked up at her, his eyes heavy with weariness. "Elara," he greeted, his voice strained. "I've been better."
Elara's heart clenched at the sight of Lysander's obvious distress. Without hesitation, she rushed to his side, her hands reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. However, as her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips.
Alarmed, Elara quickly reached for the edges of Lysander's shirt, her fingers fumbling with the fabric as she worked to expose the wound hidden beneath. With trembling hands, she pulled the fabric aside, revealing a deep, angry gash on his shoulder that was still raw and bleeding.
"Oh, Lysander," she whispered, her voice trembling with concern as she took in the extent of his injury. "Why didn't you say something sooner? We need to get this wound treated right away."
Lysander's jaw clenched in pain as he forced a weak smile, though it failed to mask the agony etched across his features. "I didn't want to worry anyone," he admitted, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "But I fear it may be worse than it looks."
Elara's brows furrowed in frustration as she scoffed at Lysander's admission. "You think?" she remarked, her tone laced with incredulity. "I can't believe you'd hide something this serious from us. You've been so preoccupied with worrying about your comrades that you neglected to take care of yourself."
Lysander's gaze dropped, his expression filled with guilt as he struggled to meet Elara's eyes. "I didn't want to burden anyone," he repeated.
Elara's heart softened at the vulnerability in his voice, the weight of his pain reflected in the weary lines of his face. "You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Lysander," she insisted, her voice gentle yet firm. "We're all here for you, ready to lend a hand when you need it."
With a sigh, Lysander nodded, though the tension in his shoulders remained. "I know," he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. "I just... I didn't want to let anyone down."
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As word spread of Lysander's injury, the entire town buzzed with concern and urgency. Elara wasted no time in summoning Agnes, the skilled herbalist known for her expertise in treating wounds and ailments.
Agnes arrived swiftly, her aged face lined with wisdom and compassion as she assessed Lysander's injuries with a practiced eye. "My dear boy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" she chided gently, though her tone was laced with concern.
Lysander managed a weak smile, though it faltered as a grimace of pain crossed his features. "Just a scratch, Agnes," he insisted, though his words rang hollow in the face of his obvious discomfort.
Agnes shook her head, her eyes soft with sympathy. "A scratch, indeed," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness. "But one that runs deeper than you care to admit, I fear."
The camp was abuzz with activity as warriors and villagers alike gathered around, their expressions a mix of worry and determination. Among them stood Emilia, her demeanor polished and composed, though a subtle tension lingered beneath her facade.
As Lysander lay wounded, Emilia's polite facade wavered at the sight of Elara by his side. With each glance, she subtly conveyed her disapproval, a silent reminder of the boundaries Elara dared to cross.
Despite the tension, Elara remained resolute, her focus solely on Lysander's well-being. Yet, Emilia's presence cast a shadow over the room, her polite demeanor thinly masking her disdain.
As Agnes, the herbalist, tended to Lysander's wounds, Emilia hovered nearby, her gaze cool and calculating. "Perhaps it would be best if you stepped out for a moment," she suggested with a forced smile, her tone laced with thinly veiled condescension. "To give Agnes some space to work."
Elara met Emilia's gaze with quiet defiance, her resolve unshaken. "I'll stay," she replied calmly, refusing to yield to Emilia's attempts to assert dominance.
Emilia's smile tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing her features before she regained her composure. "Elara, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?" she requested, her tone polite yet tinged with a hint of authority.
Elara hesitated for a moment, meeting Emilia's gaze with a steady resolve. Despite her misgivings, she knew it was best to avoid confrontation in Lysander's fragile state. "Of course," she replied evenly, nodding in acquiescence.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, Elara couldn't shake the sense of unease that lingered in the pit of her stomach. Emilia's sudden request had caught her off guard. Wordlessly, they made their way to a nearby vacant room, the air heavy with tension as they settled into a tense silence.
Finally, Emilia spoke, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, well, if it isn't the hero of the hour," she remarked, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.
Elara braced herself for whatever was to come, her gaze steady as she met Emilia's eyes. "What is it?" she asked, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of uncertainty.
Emilia took a deep breath, as if gathering her thoughts before speaking. "I understand your concern for Cedric," she began, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you needn't worry yourself any longer. It's my duty as his future wife to tend to his needs."
"Simply put, I will take care of Cedric from now on," she explained, her tone dripping with condescension. "There's no need for you to concern yourself any further."
Elara couldn't help but scoff at Emilia's thinly veiled insecurities, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, don't worry, Lady Emilia," she retorted, her voice tinged with defiance. "I wasn't concerned before, but perhaps it's time for you to start worrying."
Emilia's eyes narrowed at the challenge in Elara's tone, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she regained her composure. "And why would that be?" she asked, her voice tinged with thinly veiled hostility.
Elara met her gaze head-on, her expression unyielding. "Because," she began, her voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within her, "maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to have feelings for Lysander."
Emilia's eyes widened in disbelief, her carefully crafted facade slipping for a moment to reveal the shock beneath. "You're... you're joking, right?" she stammered, her voice laced with disbelief.
But Elara shook her head, her resolve firm. "No, I'm not," she insisted, her voice tinged with honesty. "After everything that's happened, after all you've done... maybe it's time for you to worry about losing him, Emilia."
With that, Elara turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving Emilia alone with her thoughts.
YOU ARE READING
ROYAL BLOOD 👑
Historical Fiction"What in the world are you doing here?" His voice was stern, tinged with annoyance. "You should not have come. It's too dangerous." Elara stepped closer, her determination unwavering despite Lysander's disapproval. "I couldn't leave you here alone,"...
