"Get your hands off the Princess's chest, you bastard!"
Captain Vane's roar thundered, accompanied by the whistle of three blades that now rested mere inches from Alistair's neck from various angles. The air in the royal bedchamber suddenly froze—not due to magic, but from the raw killing intent radiating from the guards.
Alistair did not flinch. His fingers remained pressed against Princess Elara's sternum, feeling the increasingly chaotic pulse beneath the hardened black tissue.
"Sir Kaelen, hold your men," Alistair said without looking back. His voice was low, yet it carried an authority that made the knights waver. "If I release this pressure now, the parasite will instantly sever her cardiac aorta. Do you wish to preserve decorum, or do you wish to prepare her casket?"
"You are exposing her before all of us!" Vane hissed, his face flushed. "It is a desecration!"
"This is surgery without a blade," Alistair countered sharply. "If you cannot stomach the sight of human anatomy, please leave. But do not obstruct a doctor at work."
King Theodoric raised his hand, signaling the guards to take a step back. "Let him be. But Julian... if you cross the line, I will be the one to behead you myself."
Alistair ignored the threat. His focus returned to the black knot pulsing at Elara's solar plexus. He took the equipment box offered by a servant with trembling hands. Inside were rows of long silver needles—traditional acupuncture tools typically used by Aethelgardian physicians to channel energy, but in Alistair's hands, they would become weapons of precision.
"I need fire," Alistair commanded.
A servant brought over a large candle. Alistair heated the tip of a silver needle until it glowed red, then allowed it to cool for a moment.
"What do you intend to do with that needle?" Valerius asked with a sneer. "You think a tiny prick can defeat the Obsidian curse?"
"I am not trying to defeat it, Maester. I am trying to paralyze its nervous system," Alistair replied clinically. "This parasite reacts to heat. Silver needles are poor heat conductors but highly sensitive to the body's electrical currents. I am going to cut off their 'feeding' lines."
Alistair took a deep breath. His eyes narrowed, mapping every path of the black veins creeping across Elara's body.
Zrak!
The first needle entered a point below the collarbone. Elara's body gave a small jolt.
Zrak! Zrak!
Two more needles were inserted into the left and right sides of the solar plexus.
"Ugh..." A faint moan escaped Elara's blue-tinged lips.
"Look! She is in pain!" Valerius shouted. "Stop, you are torturing her!"
"Silence, Maester!" Alistair snapped. "Look at the color."
King Theodoric drew closer. He gasped. The black lines that had been pulsing a dark purple around the needles slowly began to pale. The horrific throbbing slowed, as if the parasite were being forced into a deep slumber.
Alistair did not stop. His hands moved with breathtaking speed—the speed of a surgeon who had performed thousands of procedures. Six, ten, fifteen needles were now embedded in vital points along the Princess's meridians.
Sweat poured from Alistair's forehead, dripping onto the marble floor. The pain in his own back (from last night's whipping) throbbed fiercely, but he pushed it aside. He was Alistair Thorne; the patient's pain was always more important than his own.
Suddenly, Princess Elara's eyelids fluttered.
"Elara?" the King whispered hopefully.
Slowly, her eyes opened. Her sky-blue pupils appeared cloudy and dazed. The first thing she saw was not her father's face, but the face of a strange man very close to her—a man with the sharpest yet calmest gaze she had ever encountered.
Alistair looked directly into Elara's eyes. He did not smile; he simply observed her with an analytical gaze that provided a strange sense of security.
"Do not move, Princess," Alistair whispered. His voice was deep and soothing, a stark contrast to the commotion around them. "Breathe slowly. Follow my count. One... two... exhale."
Elara stared at Alistair in confusion. She felt incredibly cold, as if she were submerged in an icy lake. But where this man touched her—at her solar plexus—a trace of warmth began to spread. The agonizing pain that had tortured her for months suddenly felt dull.
"Who... are you?" Elara's voice was barely audible, raspy like stones grinding together.
"Your healer," Alistair replied curtly.
"Julian?" Elara recognized the face, though the aura felt entirely different. "You... aren't you..."
"The Julian you knew is resting," Alistair interrupted gently. He placed his palm on Elara's forehead, checking her temperature. "Focus on me, Elara. Do not let yourself fall asleep again. If you sleep now, you might not wake up as a human."
Elara gripped the sleeve of Alistair's filthy tunic. The man's touch felt real, intensely real amidst her dream world of black darkness. "Cold... so cold..."
Alistair turned toward the King. "Your Majesty, these needles only buy us time. The parasite is not dead; it is merely numbed. It will wake again with even greater fury in twelve hours."
"Then what must be done?" the King asked frantically. "Do anything! I will give you all the gold in the palace vaults!"
Alistair stood up, slowly prying Elara's hand from his sleeve. He looked at the King, then at Valerius and the guards who remained on high alert.
"Leave," Alistair said.
"What?" Kaelen frowned. "You want us to leave you alone with the Princess in this condition?"
"Yes. Because the next procedure cannot be witnessed by the public eye. It concerns medical secrets and... the Princess's honor." Alistair turned back to Elara, who was still looking at him with weary eyes.
Valerius laughed derisively. "I knew it! This is the climax! He wants to do something lewd!"
Alistair did not dignify Valerius with a response. He leaned toward Elara's ear, bowing until his hair brushed against her pillow. The scent of roses and dried blood mingled in the air.
Alistair whispered something meant only for Elara's ears. It was a sentence that made the Princess's eyes widen in shock, and a faint flush appeared on her pale cheeks.
"Princess," Alistair whispered in an unwavering, cold tone. "These needles only delay your death. The only way to completely uproot this parasite is through a direct transfer of pure thermal energy. Our souls and bodies must touch without barriers."
Elara trembled. "What... do you mean?"
Alistair met those blue eyes with gripping intensity.
"Your body must accept mine, or you will die petrified by tomorrow night. The choice is yours, Elara von Astrea."
Alistair straightened up, facing King Theodoric who waited anxiously.
"Give me one night alone with her," Alistair stated loudly. "Or feel free to call a stonemason to carve her tomb tomorrow morning."
Princess Elara looked at her father with tears beginning to well up, then back at Alistair, who stood coldly beside her bed. At that moment, the black vein on her neck suddenly throbbed violently, as if the parasite within were screaming at Alistair's threat. "Father... do not let him go," Elara whispered weakly, yet filled with profound terror.