ROYAL BLOOD 👑

Chapter 15: The Wounds

⊱⋅ ───── 🍂 ───── ⋅⊰

As Elara stepped into the tent, the flickering light from the lanterns revealed Lysander seated at the makeshift table, his features illuminated by the soft glow. She paused in the entryway, her heart skipping a beat as she registered his unexpected presence. She had expected to find him elsewhere, perhaps still in the midst of interrogating his men, not waiting for her in the dimly lit confines of the tent.

Lysander's gaze met hers, his expression unreadable as he watched her with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice measured yet tinged with a hint of frustration.

Elara's heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind racing for a plausible explanation that would satisfy his inquiry. "I... I just needed some air," she replied hesitantly, her voice tinged with nervousness. "The tent felt a bit stifling, so I thought I'd step outside for a moment."

Lysander nodded in understanding, though there was a lingering skepticism in his eyes as he gestured for Elara to join him at the table. With a hesitant nod, she complied, sinking into the seat beside him, acutely aware of the weight of his scrutiny.

"How are you holding up?" Lysander inquired, his voice gentle yet probing. "Today was... quite the ordeal."

Elara's gaze flickered away, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap as she struggled to find the right words. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just a bit shaken, that's all."

Not believing her, Lysander's eyes swept over Elara's body, searching for any signs of injury or distress. Elara squirmed under his scrutiny, her discomfort palpable as she shifted uneasily in her seat.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted once more, her voice tinged with frustration. "Just a few bumps and bruises, nothing serious."

Lysander's expression softened, though there was a hint of frustration in his eyes as he reached out to gently touch her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with defeat.

Elara's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the weight of his concern a stark reminder of the bond that had formed between them. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "And I appreciate it, I really do. But... I'm tougher than I look, you know?"

Lysander's lips twitched into a small, affectionate smile at Elara's words, a glimmer of warmth returning to his eyes. "I know you are," he replied softly, his voice tinged with admiration. "But even the strongest among us need a little care sometimes."

With gentle hands, Lysander reached out to tenderly brush aside a loose strand of hair that had fallen across Elara's forehead, his touch light and reassuring. "Let me take care of those wounds for you," he insisted, his voice gentle yet firm. "You've been through enough today."

Elara nodded in acquiescence, her gaze softening as she allowed Lysander to tend to her wounds. Despite the turmoil that had unfolded throughout the day, there was a sense of comfort in Lysander's presence, a silent understanding that transcended words.

As Lysander carefully cleaned and bandaged her wounds, Elara couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards him.

Her gratitude giving way to concern as she noticed the telltale signs of battle etched upon his weary form. Elara's heart clenched at the sight of Lysander's injuries. With gentle hands, she reached out to tentatively touch the bruised knuckles and the bloodstained fabric of his clothing, her touch light and tentative as she assessed the extent of his wounds.

"Lysander, you're hurt too," she murmured, her voice tinged with worry. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

Lysander's expression softened at her concern, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his eyes. "It's nothing," he insisted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his words. "Just a few scrapes and bruises, nothing to worry about," He repeated.

As Elara observed Lysander's weary demeanor, her heart clenched with empathy, each drop of sweat on his brow a testament to the toll that the day's events had taken on him. She couldn't shake the nagging worry that lingered in the pit of her stomach, the instinctual urge to ensure his safety tugging at her with relentless persistence.

"Lysander," she began, her voice gentle yet insistent. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this. Your injuries need attention, too."

But Lysander merely offered her a weary smile, his eyes reflecting a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. "I'll be fine, Elara. I've endured worse than this before."

Elara bit her lip, her concern mounting with each passing moment. She knew all too well the dangers of ignoring one's own well-being in favor of tending to others, and she couldn't bear the thought of Lysander putting himself at risk for her sake.

"Please, Lysander," she implored, her voice tinged with urgency. "You need to rest. I can take care of myself for now. Just... let me help you."

For a fleeting moment, uncertainty flickered in Lysander's eyes, a silent battle waging within him as he grappled with his own stubborn pride. But as he glanced at Elara, the exhaustion etched into every line of her face, he knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the truth any longer.

With a resigned sigh, he relented, allowing Elara to guide him to a nearby cot where he could finally rest. As he closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful slumber, Elara remained by his side, her hand gently clasped in his, offering him the solace and support he so desperately needed.