“I do?”
His fury didn’t abate, but he exhaled long and hard. “I haven’t given you a reason, and I still can’t give you a reason until we reach the Citadel and have some privacy. But trust or not, you should have enough damned self-preservation to take care of yourself.”
“I have plenty of self-preservation. That’s why I didn’t seek help from the armed men who ambushed andmurdereda troop of soldiers in front of me.”
Harthon ignored that and turned to his men. “Joris, give me your kit and some water. The rest of you, stop eavesdropping and do what you actually need to do.”
I watched silently as the men started talking amongst themselves. An older man with gray-speckled hair emerged from the group and handed Harthon a thick bundle and canteen.
Harthon thanked him and turned back to me. “I’m cleaning these. Hate me all you want, but you know it’s foolish to leave them like this.”
It was also foolish to have a deadly warrior bandage my wounds when he was angry.
Not giving me a choice, Harthon led me to a cluster of trees just over a small ridge, out of the sight of his men. Finally, he released my arm. My stomach jumped with nerves as he opened the bundle, revealing pockets filled with draughts, knives, scalpels, and heaps of white linen.
“It’s easier if you sit.”
“I know that,” I muttered, forcing myself to take a seat before I ran away like a baby.
They were just wrists, for goodness’ sake. I’d had plenty of similar injuries in my lifetime. When I was new to setting traps, rocks and roots would trip me often, and I would return home with gouges in my knees. Chopping wood had given me more splinters than I could count, and just last year, a thick, sharp piece had lodged into my thigh so deeply I’d needed stitches.
I could handle skinned wrists.
And I would handle them well because Harthon already thought I was a weakling. Here I was, afraid to wrap my own wrists while he walked into and out of battle for fun.
I chewed on my lip as he uncapped the canteen, grabbed a vial of milky liquid, and knelt before me. Forcing a bored expression onto my face, I held out a hand. His hands swallowed mine, the tanned, rough skin dusted with dark hair. His fingernails were remarkably short and clean.
It was an utterly ridiculous thing to notice.
I tilted my gaze up to find his eyes on me, an almost soft look on his features. No—not soft. Harthon didn’t dosoft.Just…softer than the livid expression he’d worn seconds ago.
“Water first, then this,” he uncorked the vial, “to stop infection.”
There he was, explaining things to his captive again.
“I can do it myself.”
The look he gave me was doubtful. “Just like you did last night?” He tipped the canteen, and water fell onto my skin.
I gritted my teeth and looked away, stifling the sound in my throat with all I had. The wounds hurt just as much as last night, but I’d already embarrassed myself by crying out before. I wasn’t going to sob in front of him now.
The water blessedly stopped, and then a thick liquid landed on the skin. This one didn’t hurt nearly as much, but my wrists still burned at the contact.
“Earlier, when I grabbed you,” Harthon said, drawing my attention away from the discomfort, “I was rougher than intended. I thought you were going to run.”
I swung my head back to him. His focus was on my wrist, which he began to wrap with linen.
Was Harthon…apologizing?PrincepsHarthon? The one who easily stole lives and ruthlessly killed a Princeps to take his seat?
“I wasn’t going to run,” I said as he tied off the bandage and reached for my other hand.
“Seemed like it to me.” He picked up the canteen to begin the process again.
“I was just look—” I took a deep breath as the water poured. This wrist was worse.Definitelyworse.
“Nearly done,” he murmured, not stopping.
Again, he offered another almost-apology. A completely unnecessary one, too, because he was only doing what needed to be done. It didn’t make any sense coming from him.
