“Let me…” Grunting, he twists his torso until he reveals the side of his back. “It came in back there, right?”
Again, I have to wipe the blood away, and now my fingers are coated in it. There is more blood at his back than I would like, and I think he should not be lying the way he is if we are to stop the bleeding. But I need to answer his question. “I…I think so.”
Falling back down, he nods and shuts his eyes. “Two holes. Good sign.”
“Nothing about this is good, Elliot.”
That gets another pained chuckle out of him. “And here I thought I was the paranoid one.”
“You were right.” I shake my head as my mind again runs through what happened after the debate. Though I do not know what Fenwick hoped to gain by attempting to destroy the monarchy, Elliot has been right about him from the beginning. “Is that why you disappeared yesterday? Because you suspected something like this would happen?”
Elliot nods slowly, his brow furrowed as he studies me. There is a darkness in his eyes that worries me. “I saw Fenwick in the city and followed him. I didn’t learn anything useful, and I should have stuck with him until I did. I could have prevented this.”
If anyone could have prevented this, it was me. If I had only listened to Elliot and trusted his instincts at the start instead of holding him back, perhaps no one would have gotten hurt. Or if I had accepted that I alone am not good for Candora and let Markham announce our engagement at the debate. Or—
“I need you to make sure my shirt is in one piece, Rapunzel.”
I meet Elliot’s golden gaze once more. “What? Your shirt? I think it is beyond saving, even if you wash it.”
His laugh quickly turns into a groan as he places his hand over mine where I have been holding the handkerchief to his skin. “Stop making me laugh. No. If there’s a piece missing, it could have been left inside me, and I’m not eager to deal with the infection that would come with that.”
“Assuming you live long enough for one to set in,” I mutter. “You are too big, Elliot. I need you to roll over.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It takes both of us to get him on his left side—he is losing strength—but that gives me the leverage to guide his arm out of the sleeve and leave his torso mostly bare aside from the dog tags he always wears. Every movement makes him paler than before, but when I announce that the back of his shirt has a slice but no missing fabric, he seems to relax for the first time since we stopped riding. But he is far from out of danger.
“Elliot, you need a physician.”
“Probably,” he agrees.
“I am not a physician.”
“No?” He looks up at me and smirks. “Seems like a missed opportunity, with how smart you are. Then again…” To my horror, he sits up, his whole body shaking until he is upright and holding himself up with one hand. “You’ll be too busy being a queen to ever have the time to practice.”
While I can appreciate the compliment, I am more worried about the way he looks like he may pass out at any moment. “Elliot, what are you doing?”
He slides out of the other shirtsleeve. “We can’t stay here.”
“But you—”
“I’ve had worse.” Taking up his shirt, he rolls it from top to bottom and starts wrapping the sleeves around his torso as if to tie it like a bandage.
I roll my eyes and grab it from him. “You have missed the wound, Sergeant.” Shifting the fabric so it better covers both sides of his wound, I tie the shirt in a firm knot as I continue to speak. “Whatever you have endured before, it has no bearing on your current situation. You are not fit to go anywhere until we can find you medical assistance.”
He lifts his eyebrows and looks around. “Where are we going to find that?”
Scowling, I adjust the shirt if only to give me something to do other than stare at the sheer amount of muscle on the man in front of me. Now that I am slightly less worried about him bleeding out, I cannot seem to look away. This is not the first time I have seen him without a shirt, but I was not this close before. Nor did I have feelings for him then. This is not the time to admire him, and yet…
“I am aware that our circumstances are not ideal,” I say as my eyes start trailing over his tattoos. I did not notice the wings before, painted on either side of a ridged scar on his shoulder, and I reach out to run my fingers over them.
Elliot tenses at my touch and looks down at his shoulder.
“What do they mean?” I ask in a whisper.
His hand slowly rises to wrap around the dog tags sitting against his chest, covering the name Joshua Griffin. “They’re in honor of a fallen brother-in-arms. He took fire that should have been mine and saved my life.”
Oh. He said that so easily. So calmly. If that had been me, I do not think I would ever feel anything but guilty. I feel guilty enough for my current situation, and Elliot is still alive.
