Exchanging Vows: The Swapped Wife Is a Top Shaman

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Ivy’s Point of View

A top shaman.

The words still echoed in my mind, even after all these years.

My father had held my hands that day, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. His face was pale despite his recovery. Not from weakness. From fear.

"Ivy, listen to me carefully." His voice had been low, urgent. "You must never tell anyone what you are. Not a single soul. Do you understand?"

"But Father, if I can heal people—"

"That’s exactly the problem." He’d pulled me closer, his eyes boring into mine. "Do you know what would happen if your uncle found out? If Alpha Roland learned that his brother’s daughter was a top shaman?"

I’d shaken my head, confused.

"He would use you." My father’s voice turned bitter. "He would chain you to the pack like a prized dog. Every war, every skirmish, every foolish injury caused by his reckless decisions. You would be there to fix it all. To bring back the dying. To clean up his messes."

"Would that be so bad? Helping people?"

"You almost died saving me, Ivy." His grip tightened. "The Soul Anchor nearly killed you. And that was just one person. Imagine being forced to do that over and over again. For people who don’t care about you. Who see you as nothing but a tool."

The weight of his words had settled on my shoulders like a stone.

"Your uncle is not a good man," my father continued. "He’s spent his entire life suppressing me, taking everything I had, making sure I never rose above my station. If he knew what you were capable of, he would do the same to you. Worse."

"So I just... hide it?"

"Yes." He’d cupped my face in his hands, his expression fierce. "You hide it. You pretend to be ordinary. You let them underestimate you. And when the time comes, when you’re free from this pack and safe from your uncle’s reach, then you can decide how to use your gifts."

From that day forward, I became invisible.

Not just meek. Not just weak. But completely unremarkable. A Beta’s daughter with no talents, no ambitions, no value. I stopped visiting the library. Stopped asking questions about healing arts. Stopped everything that might draw attention to what I really was.

It was suffocating. Like holding my breath for years on end.

But I survived. And now, looking down at Dominic Ashford’s pale face, I was grateful for every moment of that suffocation.

Because no one in the Silvermoon Pack knew what I could do. No one suspected. No one would think twice about the quiet, unremarkable bride who had been dumped on the dying heir’s bed.

I closed my eyes and began to chant.

The words were soft, barely above a whisper. Ancient syllables that vibrated in my chest and spread through my fingertips. My hands hovered over Dominic’s head, not quite touching.

"Show me," I murmured. "Show me what’s broken."

The world behind my eyelids shifted. Colors bloomed in the darkness. Shapes formed. I could see Dominic’s body laid out before me like a map. His bones glowing white. His blood flowing red. His organs pulsing with faint light.

And there, in his skull, I found it.

Blood clots. Dark masses pressing against the delicate tissue of his brain. And worse, fragments of bone. Tiny shards that had broken off during the impact and lodged themselves against his nerves.

That was why he wouldn’t wake up. The pressure on his brain was too great. His body had shut down to protect itself, retreating into unconsciousness rather than facing the damage.

I moved my focus downward, scanning the rest of him.

His heart was strong. His lungs clear. His organs functioning normally. The daily massages from Marcus and Theo had done their job well. His muscles hadn’t atrophied. His circulation remained healthy.

Only his leg showed significant damage. The bone had been shattered and reset, but it had healed wrong. He would walk with a limp when he woke up.

When. Not if. When.

I opened my eyes, letting the vision fade.

"You’re lucky," I told Dominic’s sleeping form. "If they’d left you alone for another few months, the clots would have spread. The bone fragments would have caused permanent damage." I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "But they didn’t. And I’m here now."

The treatment plan formed in my mind.

Spirit Vein Guidance. It was the only technique powerful enough to dissolve the clots and shift the bone fragments without surgery. I would have to channel my own spiritual energy into his body, using it to guide his healing from the inside.

But there was a problem.

I was weak. The years of suppressing my abilities, of hiding what I was, had taken their toll. My spiritual reserves were a fraction of what they should be. Like a muscle that had been left unused for too long.

I could perform the technique once a week. Maybe twice if I pushed myself. But no more than that. Any more and I would drain myself completely. End up unconscious for days. Or worse.

At that rate, it would take three months. Three months of weekly treatments before Dominic would open his eyes.

Three months of keeping my secret. Three months of pretending to be the helpless bride everyone thought I was.

And there was another concern.

The accident.

Everyone said Dominic had been injured protecting the king. That a rogue wolf had knocked him against a rock during battle. A tragic but honorable wound.

But looking at the damage now, something didn’t add up.

The bone fragments in his skull were too uniform. Too precise. Like they’d been caused by a single, concentrated blow rather than a chaotic impact against stone. And the placement of the clots suggested the injury had been worsened after the initial trauma. Like someone had hit him again while he was already down.

What if it wasn’t an accident?

The thought sent ice through my veins.

If someone had deliberately tried to kill Dominic, they might try again. Especially if they learned he was recovering. That he might actually wake up and reclaim everything they’d tried to steal.

I thought of Bastian’s smug face. Margot’s eager eyes. Vivienne’s calculating smile.

Any of them could be responsible. All of them had motive.

Which meant my treatments had to remain secret. Absolutely secret. No one could know what I was doing. No one could know that the dying heir was slowly, quietly, being brought back to life.

I sat back in my chair, my mind racing through possibilities.

The servants couldn’t be trusted. Not all of them, anyway. Marcus and Theo seemed loyal, but I couldn’t be certain. The fewer people who knew, the better.

I would need to perform the treatments at night. When the residence was quiet. When no one would notice me sitting at Dominic’s bedside, channeling power into his broken body.

I would need to hide any signs of improvement. Keep his condition appearing unchanged to outside observers. Let everyone continue believing he was on death’s door.

And I would need to build my own strength. Meditate. Practice. Slowly restore my spiritual reserves so the treatments could become more effective.

Three months.

It seemed like an eternity. So much could go wrong in three months. Bastian could make his move. Margot could scheme her way into power. The bond-breaking ceremony would happen in just three days, and after that, I would be even more vulnerable.

But I had no choice.

I looked at Dominic’s face. Peaceful. Unaware of everything happening around him.

"I’m going to save you," I whispered. "But you have to stay alive long enough for me to do it. Can you do that for me?"

No response. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I took a deep breath and began to plan.

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