[tw: bodily injury]

When they finally made it back to the main house, the clouds in the sky were already beginning to singe. With his wound in the soft flesh of his stomach, Lee walked in a terse pace, wary of unnecessarily pulling the skin or dislodging his makeshift bandages. This did not go unnoticed by his companion, but he politely turned down offerings for help, even when the old man of the orchard frantically poured over them in apology. Regardless, as they suited their horses up to return to the inn, Donovan seized the reins from his hand.

“Ride on my horse, instead.”

Leilani quirked a brow,”Does it matter?”

Poising to help Lee onto his horse either way, he left little room for argument.

Donovan’s charge was, without question, a thoroughbred fit for a prince. Whereas Lee had rented his horse from the inn where it was more suited to lackadaisical chores of passing travelers, Don’s dappled, obsidian steed practiced a picturesque gait as though begging to be the muse of a passing painter. While it had its charm in looks, however, it was infinitely more comfortable for long term riding.

Lulled along by its gentle amble, Lee felt a heaviness to his eyes as the long day caught up to him. After a second nod off, Donovan closed in on his side, once more accosting his reins with quiet suggestion.

"Rest."

Lee scarcely had the energy to protest, sinking his body forward for a much needed nap. He couldn't truly sleep for the remainder of their journey, but when the glow of the inn came to view just as the last remnants of sunset disappeared, he at least could make it up the stairs to collapse heavily into bed.

He could already feel the numbness of sleep overcoming his body when a light knock at his door announced Don's arrival. Though the prince had saved him and shown him nothing but kindness in his time of need, Lee felt a bitterness in being stirred awake, a rare sigh announcing his exhaustion.

"You'll be able to sleep soon, I promise, but…"

"But?" Unburying his head from his pillow, Lee felt a pit in his stomach for the second time that day. A dull brown bottle rested in Donovan’s hands, as well as clean swaths of cheap cloth.

"Please don't make this difficult," Donovan snipped, the gentle tone he'd been using wearing away in warning. Keen to end it quickly, Lee complied in misery, unbuckling his borrowed belt with somber deflation. He left the soaked scraps still stuck to his skin for Donovan to handle, gluing his eyes to the ceiling as he tried to settle on a god to plead to.

"I'm going to start."

"Just do it!"

"...don't hit me?"

Leilani snapped his gaze to Don to retort to the baseless assumption, but instead found himself swallowing a scream. Donovan moved swiftly with the alcohol, dabbing away coagulated pus and blood before more generously squeezing it over the gash. As the solution soaked into his nerves, Lee felt his stomach was ablaze from a cold fire, the restraint he had in the first wound dressing dashed away by this unforgiving branding. Hands shaking, he gripped the sheets for release, only letting go as the pain dispelled with the evaporated alcohol.

In comparison, the dull discomfort as Don applied new, proper bandages was a mere drop in the pail. Pulling his mind through the fog, Lee attempted to make scornful eye contact with his merciless nurse, but found the prince to be focusing intently on his work. Another knock came to the door.

Donovan answered hurriedly, receiving a tray from an inn keeper with sparse words between them. Though the dame attempted a peek at the ragged man the whole salon had seen stumble in, she was dismissed, to her disappointment, by Donovan's stature and a firm close of the door. When he turned around again, he was met with a sorry sight.

Face burrowed into his hands, Lee didn't bother to look up to respond,"I'm not going to drink it."

"I don’t think you have a choice."

"Don't I?" Lee tilted his head to peer at Don with one pleading eye.

"No, you don't," pouring a cup to the very brim, a bitter steam wafted away as Don denied to spare him a glance,"consider it your first order."

Cursing, Lee begrudgingly took the wooden cup into his hands, refusing to acknowledge any comfort in the warmth it lent him. The pitch black reflection of medicinal tea mocked him as it trembled against the rim, almost eager as it poured its foul flavor over his senses. He nearly got away with the puddle left at the bottom, but frowned when Donovan issued his second official command: "All of it."

Once satisfied that the drink had been finished, Donovan replaced the cup to its tray and began gathering the evidence of Lee’s awful night. Either unwilling or unable to help, the patient once more collapsed heavily back into his bedding. He hated to admit it, but while he initially was happy to ignore the discordant condition of his body for sake of sleep, with a warm stomach and fresh bandages, the sheets had a newfound softness to them.

"I would change your clothes, if I were you."

"Is that another order?"

"A suggestion."

"Tough."

If it weren't for the sweep of cumbersome sleep stubbornly closing his thoughts, Lee could have sworn he heard a laugh.