Hold on. “Is that a bruise?” Last night, there hadn’t been enough light to see. My gaze tracks to the right. “Are thosescars?” Heavens, they are. They weren’t there when I last saw him in Rosehill. “What happened to you?”
He props his hands at the cut of his hips, staring down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “I met a wolf, but we did not get along.”
If a wolf got close enough to do that much damage, he’s lucky to be alive.
I could’ve lost him.
What am I saying? You cannot lose what you never had.
Maddox goes to step away, pauses, then reaches for my hand again, staying my fears like the twist of a knob stemming a leaky tap.
After I acted so abominably, it’s a wonder that he wants to hold onto me at all.
He urges me forward, and I manage a few steps before my gaze returns to his mottled side. He must be in so much pain, yet he hasn’t once taken a drink from his flask.
How can I live with myself letting his wounds go untended when he’s taken such great care of me?
The answer is simple: I can’t.
Pulling out of his grasp, I fold my arms across my chest, prepared to stand my ground. “You need to heal yourself.”
Darkness flickers across his face. “I am fine.”
“There is nothing fine about that giant bruise across your ribs or the blood dribbling from your hairline all the way down your back.”
“Do not worry about me.”
That might’ve worked last night, but today, I’m not taking no for an answer. “It’s too late for that, Maddox. I started worrying the moment I found out you weren’t in the castle gardens.” I point to the somewhat flat boulder next to where he blinks at me through wide eyes. “Sit there and let me take care of you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he plops down with a huff. I stalk forward, steal his dagger from its sheath, and then slice off a large strip of my dress to use as a dressing for his head.
When I hand back the dagger, his eyes glisten like he’s about to cry. “Your dress?—”
“Doesn’t matter.” It’s not like I plan on wearing this to any parties or soirees. “Give me your flask.”
Flask in hand, I unscrew the lid and dribble some water on the silk, then wrap the makeshift bandage around his head, carefully covering the cut at the base of his skull with the damp fabric.
Satisfied with my handywork, I hold out the flask. “Take a drink.”
“There is no need to waste any water on me.”
How can he possibly believe healing himself would be a waste? “You’re no good to me wounded. Please have a drink. For me?”
More hesitation ensues. He might be feeling stubborn, but that’s my middle name. This is a battle of wills I shall not lose.
After another beat, he accepts the flask from my outstretched hand and takes a single sip. Probably not enough to heal whatever is going on with his ribs but hopefully enough to keep him from being in excruciating pain.
When he stands and takes my hand once more, he’s no longer wincing.
Now all we have to do is make it out of here without needing more.
My slippers struggle to find purchase, sliding on the loose stones as the silty soil beneath shifts with our footfalls.
Maddox doesn’t seem to have any trouble managing the loose ground. Me, on the other hand? I’ll be lucky if I don’t turn my ankle again.
Using my free hand, I push back my tangled hair. If the state of my dress is any indication, I must look a fright. Not that Maddox has looked at me long enough to notice. His gaze remains firmly ahead, dark eyes constantly scanning for trouble.
A glittering river appears like a mirage in the distance, water rushing over and around stones as it cuts through the center of the canyon.Finally.
