The royal palace was far grander than anything you had ever seen—tall marble columns, golden chandeliers, and a throne room that seemed to stretch into the heavens. But none of that compared to the sight before you now.

The king lay on his grand bed, his usually imposing form weak and still, his breaths shallow. Wounded from battle, he had refused to let anyone treat him until now. His court had summoned you, the best healer in the kingdom, in desperation.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. The air was thick with tension as you knelt beside the bed, pressing your hands to his fevered skin. Magic hummed beneath your fingertips, golden light seeping into his wounds.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then—

A hand closed around your wrist.

Your breath caught as you looked up. The king’s golden eyes were open, hazy with fever but locked onto yours. His fingers tightened as if afraid you would disappear.

“An angel…” he rasped, voice hoarse.