The Betrayed Princess Rising (Lylah and Ezra) novel Chapter 115

Person’s POV

The patient’s eyes were already closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. He didn’t stir when Lylah stepped closer to the bed. The draughts he’d been swallowing day after day likely dulled his senses, dragging him into a heavy, unnatural sleep.

Lylah didn’t fuss with elaborate examinations. She gently lifted his hand and pressed her palm to his forehead.

The moment her skin met his, Selestine rose within her–alert, instinct sharpening like a blade unsheathed.

“What’s his name?” she asked quietly.

“Yorik,” Gwyn replied.

Lylah’s expression darkened.

“His fever is dangerously high.” She glanced at Gwyn and Alexander. “His pulse is irregular. If we don’t bring his temperature down soon, he could seize. Or worse–die.”

Gwyn’s face crumpled with distress. “But only some minutes ago he was conscious. He even managed to sit up.”

A low chuckle broke the tension.

“You touched his forehead for a second, and now you’re handing down life–and–death verdicts?” Alexander asked. “What do you think you are? Some Moon–blessed healer?”

His gaze shifted to Gwyn. “I warned you she’s an amateur. She was nothing more than a junior assistant in the Traditional Class before Clark Grimwood decided to indulge her.” He scoffed. “I’m one of Professor Vale’s finest students. And I don’t agree with whatever she thinks she’s suggesting.”

Gwyn stood frozen between them, torn.

She and the other healers had already administered high doses of cooling elixirs and potent herbal infusions. Another measure might overwhelm Yorik’s system. She knew it–but she refused to say it aloud, unwilling to hand Alexander the satisfaction of being right.

“Then what do you suggest, Alexander Blackridge?” Lylah asked evenly.

He hadn’t expected her to challenge him. His eyes narrowed slightly.

He didn’t hesitate. “Surgery.” His tone turned clinical. “We cut him open. Remove the stone. Excise the infected root. That way he won’t continue wasting nearly every expensive tonic in this ward”

Cold horror washed through Lylah. “You can’t be serious.”

He tilted his head, smiling faintly. “I am.”

“At least I’m competent,” he countered coolly. “I offer a logical solution. Unlike you.” His eyes dropped to Yorik’s frail form. “Let’s not pretend this is some great tragedy in the making. He has no pack. No one will mourn him if he dies.”

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