The rain had long stopped but the scent of blood still clung to the king's skin.
Not fresh blood.
Old blood.
Dried blood.
The kind that came from ripping through men on a batthlefield till the gods themselves probably looked away in discomfort. Humans truly did have a fascinating hobby of tearing each other apart over land and pride. Very poetic. Very stupid.
Elara stood near the bathing chambers with her arms crossed as Kaelis sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
His black robes were soaked dark crimson from shoulder to hem, his hair damp and sticking slighhtly to his forehead. He looked exhausted.
Not king exhausted.
Not irritated exhausted.
He lookked hollowed out.
Like war had reached into his bones and scraped pieces out of him.
"You're dripping on the floor," Elara muttered finally.
Kaelits lifted his eyes to her slowly. "Then clean me."
Elara blinked once.
"Excuse me?"
"Bathe me."m
There was no arrogance in his voice. No mockery either.
Just exhaustion.
