The Lycan King's Healer
The Lycan King’s Healer – Chapter 47

Clement.

“Wha–what?” I sputtered, looking up at him. I had not seen him in years.

His eyes glowed through the dark, and he looked like a dark lion that just found his prey. “Cathy?” he questioned, and when he confirmed it was me, his tone changed. “Ah, dear Cathy, what are you doing out here at such a time?”

Clement was just as dark and alluring as usual. I had never grown accustomed to his aura of intelligence, sharp wit, and dark wisdom. He was the physical embodiment of magic, and he looked it as well.

I stood up, hoping I didn’t appear too crazy. He probably thought I had become a mad woman, sprinting through the forest with branches in my hair, in a dirty, torn ball gown, with tears reddening my eyes. Now I really contemplated if it was a dream. Clement rarely passed through anymore.

“Please,” was all I said, trembling. His expression morphed from amused pleasure to slightly horrified surprise.

“What is the matter with you?” he demanded, concerned. “Is Theo alright?”

I shook my head, looking toward the path I should be continuing down. I had no time to catch up, not even a breath or blink of an eye to waste. But I slowly realized something.

“Clement,” I gasped, grabbing onto the front of his shirt. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Help me.”

“Darling, I will,” he urged, frowning in worry. I had never seen him show emotion like this before; even if it was only slightly below surface level, he never showed emotion toward other people. He was nothing but wit, humor, and mystical intelligence. “Please tell me what has happened to you.”

I looked at him wildly, trying to breathe through the sobs sticking to the interior of my throat. “My best friend,” I cried, “dead.”

“Oh,” was all he responded. He looked to be expecting something much more horrific. Mundane occurrences like death, in which he witnessed every day as a healer, no longer affected him.

“You don’t understand,” I gasped, shaking my head, “he was murdered. I must save him. I must. I must.” My lips were trembling, my whole body quivering.

He grabbed my arms and pulled my iron grip fingers off his shirt. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I sobbed, looking at him desperately. “I am not strong enough to bring back the dead. I don’t even know how to mend a bone!”

Clement pursed his lips, thinking. I fell to my knees, unable to stand on my own, my body exhausted from running and falling.

“Oh, Cathy,” he said, kneeling down in front of me. He plucked a leaf out of my hair. “I still have so much to teach you.”

I shot my head up at him. “You can help him.”

He hesitated. “I don’t bring many people back. It’s a dangerous practice, and you know that. A big part of healing is accepting that we should not undo what has been done.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to happen!” I whimpered, “he was pushed off the castle balcony. Murdered in cold b***d before he even knew he was dying.”

Clement sighed, furrowing his eyebrows as he appeared to contemplate.

“Clement,” I said, trembling, “p-please help me.”

I had never seen him this torn or distressed before. He looked genuinely bothered by my breakdown, his catlike eyes hooded with concern.

“Please,” my voice reduced down to a whisper, coming out brokenly.

“Alright, shit, fine,” he sighed, acting as if it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but wanted me to stop crying. It was strange for him to act like this; I’ve seen him bring people back from the dead many times without complaint.

He took out a vial from his pocket. I knew what the vial would contain; he carried his b***d in them when he was traveling, for anyone he may stumble upon that needed it. He kept it supplied in stock like water.

“Take this,” he said, grabbing my shaking hand firmly. I gasped as he uncurled my fingers and placed the vial on my palm before delicately folding my hand together. I looked at him as he gripped my hand, not releasing it from his own. “Have your friend ingest this. Pour it down his throat and then rub the remaining droplets over his chest, above his heart.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, “thank you.”

“Now, go. Once his organs turn cold, it will no longer work,” he said, and released my hand before waving me off, as if I was going on a mere run.

I sucked in a breath before heaving myself up. I kissed his cheek in gratitude, not knowing any other words that would show how grateful I was. He blinked in surprise, and then I turned away, sprinting into the dense brush back toward the estate.

***

Aldrich

“And that is why I have declared war on Prince Benjamin,” I announced to the King and Queen, my jaw clenching and unclenching. In our royal meeting room, it was just the three of us. I knew it was time to tell them, whether they believed me or not.

“You think he is unfit to be King?” my father questioned, his voice not showing what he thought about it.

“Yes. He committed treason, and therefore, does not deserve to be in the running anymore,” I said, looking at him adamantly, “keep in mind, Father, I never intended to be King before.”

“But you do now,” The Queen said, and it was not a question but a statement.

“Yes,” I answered bluntly.

“Well, Aldrich,” the King said, and I tensed up. “If Benjamin committed treason, I do not support him in becoming King. He is more likely to be interrogated. Plus, I agreed with your mother this entire time. We both have preferred you to be my successor.”

I nodded, hiding my relief.

“We approve whatever you have declared,” my mother said softly, and despite the fact her son would be involved in even more violence, she looked significantly proud.

Cathy

No one was in the infirmary anymore. Everyone left, already accepting Alan’s death. He was tucked under a white blanket, his head propped on a pillow, but that was as far as they entertained him living.

I strode over to him, feeling half asleep. I was not sure how my legs were still functioning, how I had not fainted from the shock. Seeing him lying there with his injuries cleaned up, his hair brushed, and his eyes closed was more daunting than his form before. At least before, he was just injured at first glance, not dead. But like this, in a medical bed cleaned up and eyes closed, at first glance, he was merely dead.

“Oh, Alan,” I murmured, hurrying over to the bed. I prayed to the Moon Goddess that I was not too late.

I pulled back the blanket, flinching at the sight of his destroyed chest. I could not tell which area was which at all, his body blending together in a meaty mess. Before I lost my nerve, I opened the corpse’s mouth before spilling the vial of b***d down his throat, my heart pounding. I made sure his head was tilted enough so that his neck was rigid straight. I took the remaining droplets and rubbed them along his chest.

When I was done, I took a deep breath and stepped back, my hands trembling.