Chapter 11

• Darius POV
• The healer’s tent reeked of blood, herbs, and burnt fur.
• She lay half-covered in furs, skin too pale against the crimson stains.I’d never noticed the freckles before—tiny flecks scattered over her nose and cheeks like stars someone forgot to map. The kind of detail a sane man shouldn’t focus on while half the camp still bled outside.And that nose ring—small, silver, catching the firelight every time she breathed. It shouldn’t have drawn my attention. It did.I told myself it was curiosity. It wasn’t.I stood against the wall, half-dressed, arms folded, while the old woman moved around Nysa like she was patching up a goddess who’d fallen out of the sky.Which, considering the light she’d blasted across the field, might not have been too far off.