Moonbound: The Rogue's Second Chance-Chapter 259: WHO DID THIS TO YOU?
"Wait here," he said.
Darius walked past her and placed his hand on her shoulder and squeeze lightly. He noticed that she seemed to have given him a strained smile but he thought nothing of it and walked out the door.
Down the hall he went, a few twists and turns and he was in the kitchen giving clear instructions to the chef on duty for the day for what the lunch he would share with Serena. Once he made sure the woman understood everything he had said he left the kitchen.
He hurried back in time just to see Serena adjusting her left leg in such a slow way that he instantly knew she had been injured. He rushed to her side with widened eyes.
"Who did this to you?"
Serena shook her head and gave a dismissive smile but that did not deter Darius, he squatted next to her and looked at her tighh with furrowed brows. The crimson liquid had already stained the bandage but he could not understand why he hadn’t smelt her blood earlier.
"It was from sparring," Serena said, pressing her hand to the wound.
"Was it not something casual, you used actual swords?"
It was now Serena’s turn to give a perplexed look. "Do we not always?" She tilted her head and let out a faint breath. "Charlotte," she said simply, as though it explained everything.
He blinked. "Charlotte?"
Serena’s lips curved slightly, but there was no humour in the gesture. "Yes. It was no grand duel. We sparred, as one does."
Darius’s gaze fell again to the darkened cloth around her thigh, his hand hovering just above it as though to touch before he drew back. "That is not a spar, Serena. I could not even smell your blood until I walked in. You should be bleeding more openly than this."
At that, Serena’s cheeks warmed slightly, and she looked aside. "I pressed ironroot into the wound," she admitted.
"Ironroot?"
"Yes. It dulls the smell almost entirely." Her words came out quick, almost apologetic, but then her face lit with the faintest spark of satisfaction as she went on. "It is not the best herb for clotting, mind you, and it stings worse than a wasp. But it is used when people must be moved quickly and quietly...say, in the middle of a hunt or a raid without the smell of blood drawing attention from every nose for a mile. It is quite clever, really. There is another root, lamb’s breath, which closes a wound quicker, but it has such a potent smell that it all but sings to any wolf nearby, and then there is queen’s heart, which-"
Darius found himself staring at her, lips twitching despite his worry. He did not think he had ever heard her speak so fast, so animatedly, and there was something endearing in the way she gestured with her free hand as though lecturing him.
"And it was the one you saw in the kit," he finished for her when she trailed off, her expression sheepish.
"Yes," she said at last, lowering her gaze. "I decided it would do."
Darius exhaled slowly and rose from his crouch, his hands braced against his knees. "Why," he said after a pause, "did your sparring escalate to this? Surely a blade to the thigh is not an acceptable outcome for something meant to be practice."
Serena opened her mouth, then closed it again. At last she gave a small shrug, her tone light, almost careless. "It merely happened. It is normal of sorts."
"Normal?" His voice sharpened in a way that startled even him, and she looked up at him as though faintly surprised by his tone.
"Yes," she said softly, tilting her head, unruffled by his temper.
Darius’s chest rose and fell once, sharply, before his anger cooled. "You say this as though you have never known gentler training," he murmured, but there was an underlying tone in the words, one that betrayed the thought gnawing at him.
She blinked.
He swallowed and looked away, guilt rising fast. He had forgotten himself. She was a rogue and rogues did not know the luxury of safety or measured sparring. He had seen enough of them on the border to know their lives were half-survival, half-war.
"I should not have said that," he said finally, his voice lower now.
"It is quite all right," Serena replied softly. But the words sat oddly in her chest. She had been asked that very question before by her father, though his tone had been gruffer, his words sharper. You children do not know hardship, he would say. You have been coddled.
Darius’s eyes lingered on her, unwilling to let the subject go even though he had let the anger slip away. "You are certain it is not too painful?"
"Yes," she said with a faint nod, and then, almost with a small smile, "It will pass before the week is out."
He did not look convinced. "You know we must meet with Riven soon. How do you plan to fare with that leg?"
Serena’s jaw tightened faintly, her voice gaining an edge of irritation. "I am not about to display my thigh to him, Alpha. I shall manage."
The corner of his mouth quirked in spite of himself, though worry still shadowed his eyes. "You are certain?"
"Yes," she said again, more firmly this time.
For a moment they only looked at one another, the silence between them stretching, soft rather than strained. The worry in his expression softened, though it did not vanish entirely.
"You do not make it easy not to worry after you," he said at last.
Serena tilted her head, unsure if it was meant as a rebuke or something gentler. "Then perhaps do not try so hard," she said lightly, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed the jest.
Darius huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. "That is easier said than done."
When the food was brought not long after, he insisted on pouring her wine himself and made certain the largest portion was set before her. She ate without hesitation, though her leg ached with every shift and bend.
He watched her in quiet, his thoughts turning over and over. She had been sparring Charlotte, why? She had been wounded...why had she accepted it as normal?
