A streak of crimson—still wet, still fresh—stains the left half of her shift. The blood stands out so starkly against the white fabric that I almost feel dizzy on her behalf. The edges of the material have frayed around the long, jagged cut, revealing only glimpses of the wound beneath.

Kiki hums thoughtfully. “I honestly don’t remember it being that bad.”

And then, she falls.

My feet work faster than my brain.

Thank God for small miracles.

They dash toward her—a small distance, but one that feels monumental in the moment—and she collides with my chest as I half catch her before she can crack her skull open against the heavy wooden bedpost.

That makes two maidens swooning into my arms tonight. I really could do without it, honestly.

I help her undress before seating her on the bed to tend to the wound. Judging from the nick in her corset, she was saved by the trappings of femininity. The blade must have skittered over the whalebone stay.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I dab at the gash, grimacing when she hisses in pain.

“It didn’t feel that bad. Honestly.”

My eyes find hers. Whatever she sees in them make her look away.

I probably don’t need to say it but I do anyway. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” she says. Her voice strained. Her teeth gritted. “It is of no concern to me.”

Because I am a rotten person, I dab an extra generous serving of alcohol on the edge of the wound. The muscles of her abdomen jump under her touch as she lets loose a string of rapid curses.

“God doesn’t like liars,” I say, smiling beatifically.

It was an asshole move, but it works. She’s focused on being mad at me and not on being in pain.

Truly, I am selfless all the way to my very core.

But she doesn’t hold my gaze as she would normally. Her eyes skitter away from mine, down and to the side.

She goes quiet while I work. After a handful of minutes that feels like an hour, she says, “I shouldn’t have left you.”

My hands pause in their application of the gauze I am using as bandages. But then, I resume my work.

“No,” I say. “You shouldn’t have.”

I wrap the gauze around her waist, nice and firm, before tying it off.

“But you’re here now. We all are. And that’s all that matters.”

But she shakes her head, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“I deserved it.”

Those three words break something inside of me. I grab her face in my hands, turning her to look at me. She tries to turn her head away, tries to void my gaze, but I will not allow it.

“Look at me,” I say in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument.