“hold still,” brennan chastised as you made to pull away from him. “i know it’s uncomfortable, but… fuck.”

sweat beaded down his brow, his russet hair falling over his forehead as his hands ran over you, working over and over to try and stop the bleeding, to try and patch your wounds.

he was still trying to process everything that had just occurred. the patrol the two of you had gone on was supposed to be routine, a simple scouting to make sure no venin had breached the wards. not only had there been venin, but they had recognized you. he remembered the names they’d hissed as they’d torn into you and your dragon.

you were royal. an heir to the throne of navarre. not once had you bothered to mention it to him, despite how often the two of you were together. if he hadn’t been so worried about you dying he would have been furious.

“do not pass out on me,” he hissed, hands moving over you as he worked to mend the various wounds scattered along your body. the moment they had landed back at bagsiath he’d dragged you to the infirmary.

no, he needed you alive, if not just so he could lecture you for hiding such a huge secret from him.

every night he’d spent laying awake with you, bearing his heart, every mission or patrol or training he’d completed by your side, and not once had you even thought to mention that you were royal. if he didn’t care about you so much, he would have never spoken to you again.