Elena POV:
The carriage wheels rumbled over the uneven dirt road, each jolt a small, physical reminder that I was moving forward, leaving the gilded cage of the Blackwater pack behind me. I stared out the window, watching the familiar forests and hills of Anton's territory recede into the distance. There was no sentimentality, no pang of loss. Only the clean, sharp relief of escape.
"Miss, we're about two hours from the next supply town," Celeste said, handing me a cup of lukewarm water.
I nodded, my mind already miles ahead, mapping out the next phase of my plan. The trip to the capital wasn't just about filing a petition with the Alpha King. It was about activating a network I had painstakingly built in secret, piece by piece, over the last two years.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a violent halt. The horses whinnied in protest, their hooves skittering on the packed earth.
Sienna, ever the vigilant guardian, had a short sword in her hand before the dust even settled. "Stay in the carriage, Miss."
I peered through the window. Up ahead, a simple farmer's cart had overturned, spilling its contents across the road. A young woman lay pinned beneath one of the heavy wooden wheels, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. She was cradling a crying child in her arms, her face pale with shock and pain.
A few other travelers had stopped, but they kept their distance, a small, useless circle of gawking onlookers. The child's wails were piercing, a raw sound of terror.
My brow furrowed. "Sienna, go see."
Just then, a far more impressive vehicle glided past us. It was a carriage of magnificent design, crafted from polished obsidian wood and inlaid with intricate silver filigree. It was ostentatious, clearly belonging to someone of immense wealth and status, yet it bore no family crest. It pulled to a stop a short distance from the crash.
Sienna returned a moment later, her expression grim. "Miss, the woman's leg is broken, a compound fracture. The wound is deep. If the bleeding isn't stopped soon, she'll die."
Without a second of hesitation, I said, "Bring me my medical kit."
Celeste's hand flew to my arm, her eyes wide with worry. "Miss, your identity... if you reveal your healing abilities here, in the open..."
"A life is at stake," I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument.
I took the worn leather satchel from her and stepped out of the carriage. With Celeste and Sienna flanking me, I walked towards the injured woman, my focus narrowing on the task at hand.
I knelt beside her, my hands already moving, assessing the damage with a practiced eye. "You," I said, pointing to Sienna and two of the stronger-looking onlookers. "Lift the cart. On my count."
My voice was calm but carried an authority that brooked no argument. They scrambled to obey.
As they lifted the wheel, I opened my kit. It was filled with neatly organized vials, packets of dried herbs, and polished steel instruments. With swift, precise movements, I cleaned the wound, applied a poultice to stem the bleeding, and set the bone. My hands worked with an economy of motion that spoke of thousands of hours of practice.
The child's crying subsided, and the mother's pained moans softened to whimpers.
After setting the bone and bandaging the leg, I uncorked a small vial containing a shimmering liquid and helped the woman drink it. The effect was almost instantaneous. A touch of color returned to her cheeks.
My work done, I rose to my feet, ready to depart as quietly as I had arrived.
As I turned, my eyes met a gaze from the window of the black carriage. Even across the distance, through the dusty air and the dimming light, I felt it. A palpable wave of power, an ancient and formidable presence that made the air crackle. It was a stare that saw far too much.
I held it for only a moment, then looked away. I walked back to my carriage, climbed inside, and ordered Celeste to close the door. I did not look back again.
Etienne POV:
I winced as a fresh wave of pain coursed through me—a familiar fire, the chronic ache of silver poisoning that had become my constant companion. I pressed my palm against my ribs, waiting for the worst of it to pass.
Inside the opulent black carriage, I drew the curtain back just enough to peer out at the commotion ahead. A farmer's cart had overturned, spilling its contents across the road. A small crowd had gathered, useless and gawking.
"Your Highness, it's just a commoner's accident," Garrick said from beside me, his voice low. "We should be on our way shortly."
I didn't respond. My gaze had fallen upon a woman striding purposefully towards the wreck. She was slender, almost fragile-looking, yet she moved with an unnerving calm amidst the chaos. Silver-haired. Unremarkable at first glance—until I saw the set of her shoulders, the absolute certainty in her step.
I watched her kneel beside the injured mother. I watched her take command of the bystanders, her voice carrying an authority that made them scramble to obey. I watched her open a worn leather satchel and begin to work.
Garrick let out a soft sound of surprise as she produced a small vial. "Your Highness... that's no ordinary field medicine."
I said nothing. I recognized the herb she was using—blood-clot root. It grew only on the highest peaks of the Silver Moon Mountains, inaccessible and exceedingly rare. I knew this because I had once tried to acquire it myself, for my own ailment. It was nearly impossible to find, even for someone of my station.
Why would a normal Omega possess such a precious remedy?
"An interesting woman." I murmured, half to myself.
I watched her finish the procedure. I watched her rise. And then, as if sensing my attention, she turned.
Her eyes met mine through the window. Even across the dusty distance, I felt the sharpness of that gaze—not hostile, but wary. Assessment. Calculation. She was not afraid. That alone made her remarkable.
Garrick shifted beside me. "Should I introduce ourselves, Your Highness? A healer of that skill would be useful to—"
I leaned back against the velvet cushions, my mind no longer on the pain in my veins. I had a name to find. A woman who carried rare mountain herbs in a worn leather satchel and met a prince's stare without flinching.
That was not a woman to be forgotten.
"I want her name." I smiled, "Go ahead, Garrick. Do remember to be courteous when addressing a lady."
