"Your Majesty!" he dropped to his knees with a thud that shook loose leaves from the branches above. "Get him to the clinic! Now!" he barked at the warriors.
But the king's blood-soaked hand lifted weakly, halting them.
"Wait," Magnus rasped. His face was ashen, sweat gleaming. "I'm glad… you're here. Closer."
Kyllian crawled forward without hesitation, swallowing the rising lump in his throat. "Your Majesty, you're bleeding too much. We have to move you—now. I'll carry you myself." His fingers reached instinctively to the gaping wound at the king's side, trying to apply pressure, trying to stop the impossible.
But Magnus caught his wrist.
