Chapter 14

( Evelyn’s POV)

The room is too bright, too sterile, for a confrontation like this.

I stand just beyond the circle of royal advisors, my heart pounding like war drums behind my ribs.

Can I do this?

The scent of sage and antiseptic clings to the air, layered with the fainter, more distinct tang of magic, the kind that lingers only after powerful healing has been done.

I can feel every gaze shift to me as the current royal healer steps aside and gestures toward me with reverence.

My nerves are rattling on edge.

“This is Evelyn,” he says, his voice calm but weighted. “Three years ago, she was the Royal Healer. In that time, her skills have only deepened. We believe she is the best candidate for Chief Healer moving forward.”

There’s a beat of silence, and the room murmurs with approval.

I incline my head slightly.

I remember when I first returned to the palace. Father was unwell, his connection to his wolf unstable. I didn't have my healing abilities then, but I developed a treatment to help him recover. I could still see the tears brewing in his eyes when he realized how much I'd grown. “Take the position of Chief Healer,” he urged me. “Your abilities could help even more people.”

I accepted this responsibility, deciding to hold training sessions to improve the capability of all the healers in the palace. Now, as I face this audience, it takes all the courage of my wolf heart to follow this thing through to the end.

As the murmurs grow, I feel Logan's gaze before I see it. My eyes flick to him instinctively, and sure enough—there it is, that familiar intensity darkening his expression.

Surprise. Confusion.

Doubt?

No. No doubt in me, he knows exactly what I’m capable of.

Just doubts about what this means.

Emma sits stiffly beside him, her back ramrod straight, lips slightly parted. For a moment, she says nothing. Then her voice cuts through the hum of conversation like a blade.

“She can cure me?” Her voice trembles on the last word, not with hope—no, Emma doesn’t hope. She calculates. She manipulates.

My smile is razor-thin.

“She could have,” I say, stepping forward at last. “If you hadn’t sabotaged yourself.”

Gasps echo around the room, but I don’t flinch. I keep my eyes locked on hers, watching the shift—shock to anger, confusion to fury. She doesn’t like being cornered. She never has.

“Excuse me?” Emma hisses, standing.

I tilt my head, keeping my voice even. “Wolfbane poisoning doesn’t linger like this. Not for years. Not unless it’s being reintroduced into the system. The symptoms you're displaying should’ve cleared up long ago. The only explanation is ongoing exposure.”

“That’s absurd!” Emma snaps. “Why would I do that to myself?”

“Why indeed?” I murmur, letting the question hang in the air like a curse. “Unless you enjoy the attention. The sympathy. The control it gives you over…” My eyes slide to Logan. “…certain people.”

Emma’s face reddens with fury. “You’re calling me a liar?”

I step forward again. “I’m calling you exactly what you are.”

Logan finally speaks. “Is it possible... someone else could be doing this to her?”

His voice is rougher than I remember. Lower. Protective. Of her.

Of course he is.

A bitter laugh rises in my throat, unbidden and sharp. “Even if Emma were the one to slit her own throat, you'd ask who handed her the blade.”

He flinches, just slightly, and I immediately hate the satisfaction that gives me.

But it’s not about Logan. Not anymore. This is bigger than him. Bigger than us.

He lifts his chin. “Then show me proof.”

“I don’t need proof,” I say coolly. “I have experience. And results. My healing works the first time, every time. It always has. There’s never been a relapse—unless the patient sabotages their recovery.”

The other healers in the room, some older, some newly trained, nod in agreement. One step forward. She’s a seasoned woman with graying hair and a deeply lined face.

“Evelyn once healed a dying werewolf who’d been declared lost by every healer in the north. One session. He was walking within hours. Her results are... unprecedented.”

More murmurs. Emma’s eyes dart wildly around the room, her breathing faster now. She’s losing control of the narrative, and she knows it.

“But I didn’t—!” she starts, her voice rising.

“Enough,” I say sharply.

She freezes.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt for years, Emma. I studied poison after poison. I pored over ancient texts. I experimented. I became a healer so powerful that I terrify the council elders. And all for you”

The words slip out before I can stop them. The air in the room stills.

Logan stares at me, unreadable. Emma blinks, stunned, but only for a moment.

Then she bares her teeth.

“You’re just jealous,” she spits. “Because he chose me.”

For a second, everything inside me stills. And then the fire roars to life again.

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That he chose you? You poison yourself to keep him close. You manipulate your illness to stay relevant. And now, you’re trying to make me the villain when you’re the one playing everyone like a fiddle.”

She steps toward me, but I raise my hand.

“Guards,” I say.

Emma stiffens as two royal guards immediately move to flank her.

“What are you doing?” she snaps. “You can’t do this!”

“And I’m the Chief Healer now,” I say calmly. “And I’m ordering you out. Your treatment is over.”

“Wait!” she gasps, her voice cracking now. “Please, wait!”

“No more waiting.” My voice is cold, but steady. “You’ve had more than enough of my time.”

The guards take her gently but firmly by the arms. She fights them; her eyes are wide now, and she is truly afraid.

Afraid that the game might finally be over.

“Get your filthy hands off of me!” Emma screams, the shrill cry is sharp enough to make the spine tingle.

Her gaze snags on Logan’s. I don’t look to see if he follows. I don’t want to know. The ache in my chest is enough already.

She notices Logan’s silence. So do I.

Though I half expected his objections to be as loud and as crass as hers, part of me felt relief in his seeming disinterest. I am no fool; I know the types of games he plays, and this shallow display of mock support is just another one.

He, above all, has no loyalty to me.

I turn back to the room. I expect judgment, reprimand, and maybe even anger. My actions are unheard of, and my spite is evident. It is not the healer's way to be so absolute and so hard that the pleas of the ill go unheard.

But she is not ill. Not in the way she wants people to think.

Instead, as my eyes fall on the audience surrounding me, all I see are solemn nods, quiet approval, a kind of collective exhale.

I can see that there is a collective suspicion that has now been unearthed. They’ve known, all of them, but none had the courage or position to confront, to put a firm stop to Emma’s madness.

The silence stretches, electric. Years of her manipulations have worn grooves into the healing community. We all caved in, I caved in, for far too long. But today, in my refusal is a dam is broken, and though not a single wolf speaks, I feel the current changing around us all.

Logan stays seated. Still watching me.

Watching her.

I hate that I can still feel him like this.

Like a pulse under my skin.