Octavia's POV
The next several hours passed in a blur of frantic activity as the castle's physician worked to counteract whatever poison had been coating the hunters' weapons.
Darius was moved to his chambers under strict orders from the doctor, and I refused to leave his side despite repeated assurances from the medical staff that I should rest.
"It's not good for your condition to remain upright for so long, Your Highness," the elderly physician said as he finished applying what he claimed was an antidote to the spreading darkness on Darius's arm. "The stress alone could harm the child."
But I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not when Darius lay so still on the bed, his breathing shallow and his face pale as parchment. The poison had been stopped, the doctor assured me, but it would take time for his body to purge the toxins completely.
I settled into the chair beside his bed, my hand resting protectively over my stomach as I watched the rise and fall of his chest. Outside the chamber doors, I could hear hushed voices, servants and guards speaking in the kind of urgent whispers that meant bad news was spreading through the castle.
"Found this morning," I heard one guard say to another. "Deep in the eastern woods, near the old hunting trail."
"Poor child," came the reply. "Only eight years old, they say. Been missing for three days." My blood chilled as I strained to hear more of their conversation.
"Strangest thing, though," the first guard continued. "Body was wrapped in one of the royal cloaks. The one with the Bartume crest embroidered on it. No one knows how it got there, or why."
"You think it was..." The second voice dropped too low for me to catch the words, but I could imagine what he was suggesting.
"Don't know what to think," came the reply. "Villagers are saying it was a wolf attack, but wolves don't wrap their kills in royal finery. And the way the body was laid out, like someone was trying to show respect..."
Their voices faded as they moved away down the corridor, but their words echoed in my mind. A missing child, found dead but treated with unexpected care. A royal cloak that shouldn't have been in the forest.
Questions that only one person could answer, and he lay unconscious beside me, unable to defend himself against whatever accusations might follow. I spent the night fighting sleep, determined to be there when Darius woke up. But exhaustion finally claimed me sometime before dawn, and I dozed off with my head resting on the edge of his bed, my hand still holding his.
When I woke, it was to sunlight streaming through the tall windows, and the realization that I was alone. I sat up slowly, my neck stiff from sleeping in the chair, and looked around the empty chamber. Sometime during the night, someone had moved me onto the bed and covered me with a soft blanket. But Darius was gone.
Ignoring the dizziness that came with standing too quickly, I made my way out of his chambers and through the castle corridors. I found him exactly where I should have expected, in his study, already fully dressed and seated behind his desk with a thick leather-bound book open before him.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across his face as he read. His sleeve was pushed back slightly, revealing the bandaged wound on his arm that proved the previous night hadn't been some fever dream.
"Why are you working already?" I asked from the doorway. "The doctor said you needed rest."
Darius looked up from his reading, and I was relieved to see that color had returned to his face. His dark eyes were clear and alert, showing no lingering effects from the poison.
"The antidote worked," he said simply. "The poison's effects are gone, and my people need their prince. There are matters that can't wait for my convenience."
I stepped into the study, noting the careful way he held himself, as if movement still caused him some discomfort. "You nearly died last night."
"But I didn't," he replied, turning a page in his book with deliberate precision. "And there are responsibilities that don't pause for personal difficulties."
I watched him for a long moment, studying the controlled mask he wore like armor. There was something different about him this morning, not just the physical recovery, but a kind of resigned determination that hadn't been there before.
"The guards were talking about a missing child," I said carefully. "A boy found dead in the forest." Darius went very still, though he didn't look up from his book.
"They said he was wrapped in a royal cloak," I continued. "One bearing the Bartume crest. The villagers think a wolf killed him."
Finally, he raised his eyes to meet mine. In that steady gaze, I saw everything I needed to know. The careful sorrow, the weight of responsibility, the burden of being blamed for violence he had tried to prevent rather than cause.
"It was you," I said, and it wasn't a question. "You found him out there, didn't you? You wrapped him in your cloak and laid him out with dignity." Darius didn't respond immediately. He simply held my gaze, letting me see the truth in his silence.
"The hunters who poisoned you," I said, understanding beginning to dawn. "They weren't hunting a random wolf. They were hunting you specifically. And they used the child as bait." Still he said nothing, but I could see the confirmation in the slight tightening around his eyes.
"You tried to save him?" I whispered. "That's why you were out there in the first place? That's why you got close enough for them to wound you..." Darius closed the book with a soft thud and leaned back in his chair.
"It doesn't matter what I intended," he said quietly. "A child is dead. The villagers need someone to blame. And I am exactly the kind of monster they expect to find guilty."
"But you're not," I said fiercely, moving closer to his desk. "You're not the monster they think you are."
"Aren't I?" His voice was calm, almost conversational. "I transform into a beast every night. I have claws and fangs and the strength to tear a man apart. When the villagers look at me and see a killer, are they really wrong?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "They are wrong. Because the man I saw last night, the one who nearly died trying to save a child, that's who you really are. Not the curse, not the wolf. You." For a moment, something flickered in his expression, surprise, perhaps, or hope. But then the mask slipped back into place.
"You should return to your chambers," he said, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Rest. The doctor was right about the stress affecting your condition."
I wanted to argue, to stay and somehow convince him that he didn't have to carry the weight of others' fear and prejudice alone. But I could see the walls going back up around him, the careful distance he maintained to protect both himself and others from the monster he believed himself to be. Instead, I nodded and turned to leave. But at the doorway, I paused.
"Darius," I said softly. "Thank you. For trying to save him."
He looked up one more time, and in his eyes I saw a flicker of something that might have been gratitude. Or relief that someone, finally, understood the difference between the man and the curse that haunted him.
It wasn't enough to heal the wounds between us, or to solve the impossible situation we found ourselves in. But it was a beginning, a small crack in the wall that might, someday, let light through.