The Blood Contract

The silence in the bedchamber was heavy, broken only by the King’s ragged, wet gasps. Alaric leaned against the carved bedpost, his knuckles white.

"You have one chance, girl from nowhere," he rasped, the dagger still clutched in his hand. "Heal me, or the guards will return for your head."

Sera didn't hesitate. She knelt and unzipped her black medical bag. The sound of the zipper—a sharp zip!—made the King flinch. He had never heard such a sound. She pulled out a small, battery-powered pulse oximeter and a stethoscope.

"Give me your hand," she commanded.

Alaric stared at her like she was speaking a foreign tongue. "You dare command a King?"

"I'm a doctor—well, almost one," Sera snapped, her modern-day bossiness slipping out. "And right now, you're just a patient who’s about to faint. Hand. Now."

Bewildered by her lack of fear, Alaric extended his hand. Sera clipped the plastic device onto his finger. It beeped, and a tiny red light flickered on the screen. Alaric recoiled, his eyes wide.

"What sorcery is this? It glows with the red of a demon’s eye!"

"It’s a tool, not a demon," Sera muttered, reading the numbers. Oxygen 88%. Heart rate 110. "Your lungs are filling with fluid. I need to listen."

She pressed the cold metal of the stethoscope to his bare chest. Alaric froze as she leaned in close. He could smell the strange, clean scent of her world—like citrus and soap—so different from the heavy incense and musk of his palace.

"I need to give you an injection," Sera said, reaching for a pre-filled syringe of diuretic from her emergency kit.

Alaric saw the gleaming needle and his eyes turned cold. He grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron. "A silver needle? You intend to poison me while I am weak."

"If I wanted you dead, I would have let you choke five minutes ago," Sera stared him down. "This is the 'Little Secret' we're keeping, right? Your life depends on me. And my life depends on you. That’s our deal."

Alaric looked into her stubborn, bright eyes. For the first time in his life, he saw someone who wasn't looking at his crown, but at him. He slowly let go of her wrist.

Sera administered the shot. Minutes later, the King’s breathing slowed. The frantic pounding in his chest eased. He slumped back against the pillows, the color returning to his face.

"You have... strange magic," he whispered, looking at the empty plastic syringe.

"In my world, we call it medicine," she replied, packing her bag. "But here, I guess it’s a secret."

Alaric stood up, his tall frame towering over her. He reached out, his thumb brushing a smudge of dust on her cheek.

"From this moment, you do not exist," he said, his voice deep and possessive. "You are the shadow in my room. The ghost in my halls. If anyone sees you, I will say you are my personal physician—and anyone who speaks of you will lose their tongue."

He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. "But if you betray me, or if my 'illness' reaches the ears of the council... I will personally ensure you are the first to fall."

Sera felt a shiver—half fear, half something else. "Deal, Your Majesty."

[Cliffhanger]

A loud knock sounded at the door. "Your Majesty! The Prime Minister demands an audience. He says he smelled smoke from your chambers!"

Alaric looked at Sera. There was no time to hide her in the alcove. He grabbed her waist and shoved her under the massive, fur-covered bed.

"Don't. Move."

As the door opened, Sera saw the polished boots of the Prime Minister enter the room—and then she saw him stop right in front of the bed, his eyes landing on her modern sneaker peeking out from under the silk hem.

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