Regan was fading fast. Her rage—at Alys, the Dresmondi, the witch who’d turned Octavius—was a quickly dwindling fire, spluttering without the necessary fuel to keep it alive. Before, the blood had felt like a blanket coating her with its warmth. She could feel it still, soaking into the jacket she was still trying to hold to her chest. Only now, she was starting to feel cold.

The low whine in her chest pulsated with every breath. She couldn’t see Cassian well, but she could smell him. And that brought her comfort, even when she could taste metallic blood on her tongue. The cut to her face must be worse than she thought. Maybe all of it was.

Regan protested weakly when she felt the shift in weight. Frightened Cassian was about to leave her, she released the jacket she'd been hugging to her chest and snatched at his jacket with her hand.

“Cassian—”

But then she was back in his arms again. Everything went still.

When Cassian spoke to her, Regan tilted her head to look at him, blinking as if that would do anything to clear her vision. She asked, as if it were a simple, matter-of-fact question with an equally simple answer:

“How bad is it?”

Cassian parted his lips to respond to Regan, but found he had nothing to say to her. Her face was torn. It was split open and bleeding on her, on him, and it was terrifying. It was gruesome. It was a kind of carnage the relatively sheltered king, having only been in battle once, had never had to witness this close. This personal.

His mouth snapped shut. He averted his gaze and said nothing. She could speak again. She could beg. He didn't know what to say to her, so he said nothing. When Akagi appeared he considered it his salvation in more way that one.

Without a word he did as he was told, leaving a trail of Regan's blood in his wake. Two guards followed, one that helped Akagi erect the tent and the other, a witch, who stayed close. She didn't have potions that Regan needed, but she knew a thing or two about first aid. Where the woman had abandoned pressure to her wound, the witch now applied it.

Cassian would surge forward, eager to set Regan on the provided cot. Simply stepping under the tent himself inspired him with a sense of health. He wasn't sick, perhaps still healing from his illness, and at once the magic of the piece tickled over his body.

The silence from Cassian, however brief, was deafening. While Cassian had nothing to say, Regan had too much. But none of the thoughts could surface as they stalled and tried to arrange themselves in a jumbling mess on her tongue. Regan’s breath started to quicken; her fingers tightened where she’d balled up his jacket in her fist as if that alone would stop her from slipping away. Desperate was the only word for how she whispered to him.

“Look at me...” It was a last, plaintive petition before Akagi’s entrance. It wasn’t until then she fully appreciated just where she was. Regan made a soft, tortured noise of pain as Cassian started off again. She felt a pressure on her chest, which she knew was necessary but made her wince all the same.

When Cassian set her down, she protested weakly, like a needy child unwilling to leave the safety of his arms. After a moment’s resistance, she let go and sank into the cot. The cold that had settled over her body started to lessen with the warm healing of the tent. Warren's jacket was still held to her chest, her wounds started to sting like she was being pricked by a thousand needles. Regan was healing, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

She squirmed a little in discomfort, raising a shaking hand to wipe the blood from her eye.

Cassian didn’t. Regan had urged him to look at her, and he hadn’t. He was the king. Only he gave the orders. And sometimes not looking was easier.

With the Hunstman in her cot, the healing process beginning, Cassian turned to Akagi where he focused his attention.

“Thank you.” He said it quietly but with intensity. His eyes traveled down to what the other man offered. The stone was tempting, but Cassian raised a hand.

“I must return with haste. There are things to be settled in my castle. Rest assured, it is entirely internal and will be handled before any in Nevermere sleep.” He hoped his words were assuring to Akagi. Neveremere wasn’t under attack. The kingdom wasn’t falling apart. But he needed to get back and take care of matters with his Captain Commander.

Now separated from Cassian, Regan grew agitated. The potion, after all, was still in her body. The full moon, not yet forgotten. But her squirming was curtailed by the creeping black of exhaustion. The hand which had been reaching for her bleeding eye rested down back at her side. It was easier to let it drip, to pool in her socket as she shut her lid against it. Every breath brought pain, her expanding chest irritating the slashing wounds hidden beneath the jacket.

“Cassian…” The word left her lips as barely more than a whisper before Akagi slipped the calming stone and button into her hand. The button was a contraption she hadn’t the focus to understand or master, but the stone went to work without her needing to use it. Regan stilled, though every time she breathed there was a soft whine that rattled in her chest.

She slipped into a cold place of semi-consciousness, lulled by the stone in her hand and the toll blood loss had taken on her body.