Damian, Evelina, and the guards burst into the palace infirmary. Brenick was carried in by one of the guards; his body was limp and pale, the blood seeping from his chest staining the fabric of his tunic.
"Adam, keep him from dying!" Damian barked, his commanding voice snapping the palace physician into action.
The healer, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and steady hands, rushed over to Brenick, pulling back the layers of blood-soaked clothing to assess the wound.
His expression darkened as he examined the deep stab wound. "His pulse is weak," Adam announced grimly, pressing his fingers against Brenick's neck. "The blade struck dangerously close to the heart. I'll do what I can."
"Then do it fast," Damian growled, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched.
Evelina stood nearby, her chest tight as she watched the physician work. She couldn't take her eyes off Brenick's ashen face. Her heart sank as the seconds dragged on and Adam's movements became slower, more hesitant.
