“Satisfied?” Sebastian said.
“No,” she said with a frown.
He opened his mouth to protest and closed it with audible click
when she got up and moved so that her body was snuggled next to his and her arms were around his shoulders.
They said nothing for the moment. Ciardis felt the slow rise and fall of Sebastian’s bare chest under her hand. She was trying to avoid touching the angry bruise he had going down his right half.
She said, “I thought you had died, Sebastian. That you had left me alone. That we would never kiss again, never speak again, never touch again.”
He shifted his head slightly underneath her chin so that his head rested on her chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for worrying you,” he whispered.
“You should be.”
He laughed gently.
Shifting his head, he said with hope in his voice, “Speaking of kisses…”
She swatted his shoulder. “No.”
“No, the healer says you need to rest—”
“But I feel fine,” he whined.
“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” she whispered. “There’s much to do tomorrow.”
“Will you be here?”
As he drifted off she laid a chaste kiss on his hair and a single tear dropped onto his head. Gripping the Prince Heir tightly, she, too, drifted off to sleep.
When she woke it was because of noise outside of the tent.
A guard was whispering, “Prince Heir Sebastian. Lady Weathervane. The major is here to report to you.”
Ciardis shifted, preparing to rise up and tell them that the Prince Heir was still resting.
Sebastian beat her to it. “Come in.”
She still stood up. Sebastian groaned at the removal of her presence from his bed.
The major cleared his throat and entered the room.
He nodded briefly to Ciardis. “Four hours have passed, sire. It is approaching the early evening. We lost two hundred men in the skirmishes, with many more wounded.”
Sebastian nodded and with a wince sat up in the bed. Ciardis moved forward as if to stop him, and he said, “No, I need to see to the wounded, Ciardis.”
“Besides,” Sebastian said casually, “if I collapse again, at least it’ll be in the healer’s tent.”
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