After subconsciously healing himself, Soren slowly came back to his senses. His vision cleared, and the warm, steady rhythm of his own heartbeat reminded him that he was alive. Blinking against the dim light of his room, he realized he was lying in his bed with the sheets tangled around him.
Alaric sat at the edge of the bed, arms crossed while staring sharply at Soren that his tense expression made Soren feel both guilty and exposed.
"Uh, oh! My apologies, Your Grace! How about the ritual?" Soren blurted out immediately, instinctively worried about duty rather than himself.
The words tumbled out before he could even register the throbbing ache in his side or the fatigue weighing on his limbs.
Hearing that, Alaric's sigh was slow and heavy with exasperation. "Forget about the ritual. Just rest and stay here." His voice carried an authority that left no room for argument, but the tension behind it betrayed how much he had restrained himself to this point.
