Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Nursery
Finn let out a sharp, choked gasp as the thirty-fourth needle slid free from his sternum.
A pulse of dark purple light burst from the metal tip, snapping through the air like static electricity before dying out against the damp porcelain tub. Bright red royal blood gushed from the small wound over his heart.
Abigail didn't hesitate. She grabbed a small jar of raw, unrefined moon-lily paste from her apron pocket—a remedy she had brought from her home village—and slammed a thick glob of it over the open wound, wrapping a clean white towel tightly around his tiny torso to stanch the bleeding.
CLICK.
The brass lock on the nursery door turned.
Abigail scooped the black needles off the tray, shoved them into the deep interior pocket of her wool skirt, grabbed the bloody towels, and kicked the bathroom door half-shut just as the heavy oak nursery door swung open.
Dr. Corvus stepped inside. He was a tall, stooped man in his late fifties, dressed in immaculate white doctor's robes trimmed with gray fur. Beside him stood Nurse Rebecca, carrying a silver tray with a heavy glass chalice filled with a thick, dark purple liquid—Finn's nightly "medicine."
"Abigail?" Corvus’s cold, thin voice echoed across the room. "Why is the nursery dark? What are you doing in there?"
Abigail took a deep, steadying breath, forced her heart rate down, and stepped out of the bathroom into the dim nursery light. She held Finn wrapped tightly in a dry blanket against her shoulder.
"Good evening, Dr. Corvus," Abigail said, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered toward the carpet, exactly as a low-ranking maid was trained to do. "The prince had an accident with his dinner bowl. He was covered in broth, so I took the liberty of washing him."
Corvus’s sharp grey eyes narrowed instantly. He strode across the Persian rug, his leather boots clicking heavily against the floorboards.
"You washed him?" Corvus demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Who authorized you to alter his care plan? His skin cannot tolerate raw water! The medicated solution was specially formulated by my team!"
He snatched Finn roughly from Abigail’s arms.
Abigail’s instincts screamed at her to tear the child back, but she forced her hands to remain folded at her waist.
Finn, however, reacted in a way that froze everyone in the room.
Normally, the two-year-old heir was completely unresponsive during examinations—limp, dull-eyed, and wheezing. But the moment Corvus grabbed his ribs, Finn opened his mouth and let out a vicious, clear, high-pitched growl. He snapped his small white pup teeth, missing Corvus’s wrist by a hair's breadth.
Corvus almost dropped him in shock.
"What in the moon's name...?" Nurse Rebecca gasped, nearly spilling the purple draft. "He hasn't made a sound in six months!"
Corvus recovered his composure instantly, his gaze whipping back to Abigail with deadly intensity. He pulled back the blanket, his thick fingers hastily inspecting the boy’s skin.
The angry, weeping red lesions that had covered Finn’s body for a year were already fading. Without the thirty-four dark needles poisoning his bloodstream, the Royal Pack’s elite natural healing was rapidly flushing out the remaining toxins. His coat looked darker, glossier.
Corvus’s face turned gray. His eyes darted to the bathroom door, which stood slightly ajar.
"You," Corvus whispered, his hand dropping to the silver scalpels strapped inside his coat sleeve. "What did you do to him?"
"I only washed him with warm water, sir," Abigail lied smoothly, her tone filled with innocent, dull maid-servant simplicity. "He seemed hot. I thought it would help him sleep."
Corvus stepped toward her, his heavy shadow falling completely over her small frame. "Where is the bathwater?"
"I drained it, Dr. Corvus. As I was instructed to do after every bath."
Corvus lunged past her into the bathroom. He stared into the clean, empty tub. He pulled open the cabinets, searching frantically for any sign of tools, herbs, or blood-soaked rags. But Abigail had hidden the thirty-four needles in her own clothes.
When Corvus walked back into the nursery, his face was a mask of sheer malice.
"Nurse Rebecca," Corvus barked, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Restrain this girl. She has breached royal medical protocol. Call the guards to lock her in the lower dungeons until Lord Vance returns from the feast."
Nurse Rebecca dropped her tray, pulled a pair of iron suppression cuffs from her apron, and stepped toward Abigail.
Abigail backed away slowly, her hand slipping inside her skirt pocket, her fingers closing around the cold, sharp points of thirty-four barbed needles.
She was outnumbered. She was an un-shifted maid with no pack standing. If she went to the dungeons, Lord Vance would make sure she was quietly choked to death in her cell before morning.
"Dr. Corvus," a low, thunderous voice suddenly boomed from the nursery doorway, vibrating through the stone walls of the castle. "Why is my son screaming?"
Everyone in the room went rigid.
Standing in the threshold, framed by two giant royal guards clad in black steel armor, was Alpha King Torin Cross.
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He was massive—six-foot-four of pure, lethal werewolf muscle, clad in a heavy black cape lined with shadow-fox fur. His razor-sharp jawline was set like granite, and his eyes, usually a cold steel blue, were glowing with the dangerous, predatory gold of an Alpha who had just returned from a blood harvest.
And his terrifying gaze slammed straight onto the blood dripping from Corvus's hands onto his son's white blanket.
