"I am sorry for your loss," Circe said at last, her tone sincere. "Truly. It could not have been easy to endure sothing like that."
"Thank you," Mirelle replied, aning every word. She lowered her head once more. "Your Highness is most kind."
"That will be all for now," Circe said, dismissing her at last. She rose from the bed and moved past Mirelle, crossing the chamber toward the round table where her tea sat untouched. She reached for the cup, then paused, a thought striking her.
Without turning back, she added, "Inform the kitchen staff that I will be taking breakfast with His Highness."
***
Casilo barely felt the cold anymore.
The wind blew cold air and frost bit at his skin and seeped through his clothes, but the sensation registered only dimly, like sothing happening far away. His focus had narrowed to the steady gait of his horse beneath him and the pressure of his hand clamped over the makeshift bandage around his torso.
It wasn’t enough. He knew that. He could feel it every ti the horse shifted, every jolt sending a fresh wave of warmth spilling beneath the cloth. Blood soaked through the wrapping, through his shirt, dark and slick against his palm. His fingers trembled as he pressed harder, jaw clenched against the pain threatening to drag him under.
The estate gates appeared through the blur ahead, iron and stone cutting stark against the pale sweep of snow. Relief flickered weakly in his chest but it faded quickly and was once again replaced by the ever present agony that thrumd through his body. He felt as though he was running out of ti, his life slipping through his fingers as his blood continued to trickle out of his wound.
A guard on the wall spotted him first and imdiately pointed at the figure approaching the estate on horseback.
"There, a rider is approaching!" The guard exclaid, drawing the other guard’s attention to the sight below.
The shout carried, sharp and urgent. Another guard leaned over the parapet, squinting into the distance. One look was enough. They noted the horse’s uneven pace and the way Casilo slumped in the saddle, barely staying upright and they instantly knew that sothing was wrong.
The alarm sounded imdiately, tearing through the quiet late morning air.
The gates were thrown open and guards spilled out, boots leaving indents in the snow as they rushed forward. Casilo was close enough now for them to see how ashen his face was, drawn tight with pain and the blood that streaked his side and darkened his clothes.
"Gods," one of them muttered as they reached him.
Casilo fought to keep himself upright, every muscle screaming in protest. He forced the horse to a halt, fingers tightening in the reins until they burned. But he could only manage that much before his strength gave out.
His body tipped sideways, a broken sound slipping from his throat as he slumped. The guards lunged forward, catching him before he could hit the ground. Strong arms steadied him, eased him down from the saddle as carefully as they could manage.
"Easy. Easy," soone said, though Casilo wasn’t sure he heard it.
The cold hit him all at once as he was lifted free of the horse, and he shuddered violently. Blood sared across a guard’s gloves as they shifted their grip, the sight sending a ripple of urgency through the group.
"Get him inside. Now."
Another guard swung up into the saddle without hesitation, heels digging into Casilo’s horse’s sides as he turned and bolted back toward the road. "I’ll fetch a physician," he called over his shoulder.
The rest carried Casilo through the gates and into the manor, away from the biting wind. The warmth inside felt overwhelming, almost suffocating, and his vision swam as they moved him quickly down the halls. Voices echoed around him, orders were barked, servants scattering out of the way.
By the ti they reached his chambers, the estate was already buzzing, word of his return and the state he was in traveling fast.
They laid him on the bed, feet shuffling as they stepped back to give him space. The sheets were pristine for all of a mont before blood blood beneath him, seeping through his clothes and the ruined bandage. Casilo’s breath ca shallow and uneven, each inhale drawn through clenched teeth.
He lay mostly still, save for the occasional wince he couldn’t suppress, his features twisting as pain surged through him.
The door burst open. Nieah was the first through, her composure shattered the instant her eyes found him. Circe followed close behind, skirts gathered in her hands, breath coming fast from the way she rushed to get here.
"Oh my..." Nieah breathed. She didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in quick strides and dropped to his side, one hand cupping his face with care. Her thumb brushed along his cheek, warm against his cool skin, and Casilo let out a small, broken sound.
"You’re ho now," she murmured, though her voice wavered. "I am familiar with treating wounds and working with herbs. Can I look at your injury while we wait for the physician to arrive? I promise to be as gentle as possible."
Casilo did not respond.
Nieah’s gaze fell to his torso, to the blood-soaked cloth and the spreading stain beneath him.
Circe hovered a few steps back, horror etched plainly across her features. Her hands twisted together as she took in the scene, the blood, and the way Casilo barely seed conscious.
Nieah pressed her hand more firmly against his cheek, leaning closer. "Stay with , please. You did not survive this long just to give up now." she whispered.
Casilo’s head rolled weakly to the side, his eyes fluttering open just long enough to et her gaze. For a mont, the pain receded, replaced montarily by sothing else.
His dry lips parted.
"N—Nieah," he whispered.
It was the first clear word he’d spoken since the guards helped him inside.
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