The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind the Second Empress, the rigid mask of composure Silver had been holding entirely collapsed.
Gently, almost desperately, he released his grip on Evangeline and lunged across the dark chambers to gather bandages, a basin of fresh water, and clean cloths. His hands, which had taken lives in a fraction of a second, now felt clumsy and utterly useless.
He stood over her bed, frozen. He didn't even know where to begin or how to dress a wound like this. The jagged, raw laceration was carved deep into her shoulder, dangerously close to her chest. To clean it properly, her blood-soaked imperial gown had to come off.
With her trusted maids nowhere to be found, the agonizing task fell entirely on him.
"Damn it all," Silver muttered, his voice shaking as he ripped his ruined leather gloves off and tossed them onto the floor.
