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Thalon knelt in front of him and braced Garrik’s body by his collar bones.

One moment, Garrik was snarling up at golden eyes blazing in heated fury and concern and the next … Eldacar had uncorked a bottle containing a black, airy substance, and started to pour it over his back.

He knew this serum well, Ozrin had concocted it especially for him; it was ink-like. Flowing like liquid and clouds. Light caught its reflection, making it shimmer in hues of violet, emerald, and gold. It sizzled across Garrik’s back, producing a choked cry from between his gritted teeth. Like a hand to anopen flame, a fierce burning crept down his back as the onyx rainbow seeped into his wounds.

Garrik’s shield pulsed around them again, his muscles twitching and screaming out.

Thalon cupped Garrik’s paling face when he could not contain the agonized cry escaping his lips. “A few more moments, brother. It’s working.Stay with us.”

White-hot steam elevated off Garrik’s skin as the black potion, that was once sizzling, disappeared, revealing his wounds sealed and back half restored, scars intact.

Thalon loosened his grip, steadied his hand above Garrik’s glistening, sweat-soaked chest, and quickly let go.

Garrik’s chest heaved in rapid breaths, falling forward to rest his forehead on Thalon’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking?” Thalon breathed low enough that only he could hear, but there was so much more unspoken, hidden behind the words.

That care, hinted with reprehension, was not ill-placed. In fact, Garrik should have listened the night before because this show of humility was indeed completely reckless, no matter the intention. If the shield had fallen?—

This isn’t about the damn shield, and you know it, Thalon’s mind barked.

Garrik ignored it. Ignored it because pale, trembling hands had reached out, intended for his back, but they were met with his firm grip around their wrist.

Registering Garrik’s firm objection, brown eyes turned wary and Eldacar whispered in a quiet plea. “Sire, I know … but please, allow me to check. I have to … touch you.”

A muscle flexed in Garrik’s cheek, but he nodded in agonized approval.

Eldacar ran his gentle fingers over the pinkened scars and restored skin, inspecting the half-healed lashes. Tender fingers turned to iron pokers that left phantom brands in their wake.

They had fussed enough over him. “Begin training. We have wasted enough time that we cannot get back.” Garrik started to push himself from the chair, but his legs buckled.

“You can’t go anywhere until you’ve rested,” Eldacar cautioned.

“I will do as I see fit,” he growled as the face of the High Prince returned.

“You may be my High Prince, but I am one of the only ones left in camp who carries some knowledge of healing. I only know what the books say. I’m not skilled like Ozrin. But I do know that if you don’t get into that bed this instant and rest, you’ll put this camp in danger again. And you can’t afford another fifty lashes. Now, go!”

A layer of shock blanketed the room.

No one spoke, no one dared to.

Eldacar blushed and sunk his head slightly. But Garrik was …impressed.

“One hour,” Garrik compromised. “Then I want to hear clashing blades and taste magic in the air. Understood?”

They all nodded and moved to leave, but Alora hesitated. She met his wavering stare over her shoulder. “What you did out there … it was?—”

“By the Flames, you stupid girl,” Jade hissed and grabbed her arm, brow vexed as she twisted hard.

Garrik lifted his hand. “It is fine, Jade. You may go.” He gestured for her to leave, waiting until the door swung closed before turning his attention back to Alora. “Well? Go on. Start calling me a bastard again,” he said and stood, steadying himself behind the chair.

She looked at the ground covered in blood and water and rolled her lip between her teeth, not noticing Garrik’s careful assessment. “I’m … sorry. This was my fault.”

Silent frustration filled his low sigh. He could explain it to her, but at that moment, he did not possess the stability or patience. “One could say that this is Magnelis’s doing. None of us would be here if it were not for him.” He shook his head. “This is done. Now, go prepare to train. I wish to see what you are capable of.”

She remained, watching Garrik unbuckle his belt and pull it through the loops with a crack as beads of water pebbled off and dripped to the furs below. His hands stilled at his blood-soaked pants, ready to unbutton them too, but stopped, realizing that she was still there.

He raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze, forming that smirk that irritated her wholly as he watched her breath catch. And how pleasingthatwas—to watch her cheeks scarlet before she turned away, and without a word, rushed out.