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Slowly, he peeled away the layers of clothing. The frock coat was torn in several locations. A shame. He rather liked this one. Perhaps it could be mended, but a king could not be seen dressed in anything less than opulence. Such a waste.
For personal moments, then. He’d have the coat mended and wear it in private.
The shirt had dried and clung to his back. Removing it caused the wound to bleed again. Baris twisted in the mirror, trying to gauge the damage. If he had been able to call on his wings, he could have shielded himself. The wound was on the lower left side, which he could easily reach if his left shoulder had not been forced out of its joint a mere hour ago. His right arm was perfectly operable, but holding the rag with his thumbless hand was…challenging. Not impossible, but now it would take him quite some time.
That was how his brother found him.
“As a courtesy to me, please refrain from putting yourself in peril,” Vekele growled as he entered the room.
Baris did not suppress his smile. Vekele had a way of lightening his mood. “You are my favorite brother as well.”
“I am your only brother and your heir,” Vekele replied, unmoved by Baris’ genuine affection. “Stop trying to die. I do not wish to be king.”
Yes, well, there was that. Baris did not particularly want to think about it.
“I am not trying to die. I am very much against being impaled and otherwise perforated,” Baris said.
Vekele huffed, tilting his head in that peculiar way of his to stare down Baris. “Why did you not deploy your wings?”
And there was the other thing Baris did not want to think about.
The karu on Vekele’s shoulder made a disgruntled noise and nipped his ear. He rubbed the offended spot and said, “I will not apologize. I have no reason.”
Emptiness ached inside Baris at the familiar affection between them. Two years had not been nearly long enough to dull the pain of losing his karu.
Launching herself into the air, the karu settled on a perch overhead.
“Spoiled old thing,” Vekele muttered before turning his attention back to Baris. He snatched the cleansing cloth from his hand. “Turn around so that I may inspect the wound.”
Baris did not bother to protest that he could clean the wound himself. He turned, facing away. In the mirror, he saw Vekele shake his head. “The royal tailor will have words with me. Apparently, I ruin an alarming amount of clothing,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“As I said, you have an alarming affinity to peril,” Vekele said.
“I am surprised you did not bring a medic with you.”
“I assumed you would want as few eyes on this as possible, and I only have two.”
The room went silent.
“Was…was that a joke?” His prickly, proud brother making a joke at his own expense?
“Do not sound so amazed. I make jokes,” Vekele said.
“Very few and far between.”
“Harol is the only one I trust, and he is occupied tending to others,” Vekele said, ignoring his comment. He applied a cleanser to the wound. The solvent stung as it fizzed.
Baris hissed. That sensation was somehow worse than the constant throb in his shoulders.
“Serves you right, as my mate would say,” Vekele said, speaking harsh words with a compassionate tone. “You were rude to the ambassador.”
Baris resisted the urge to claim that the ambassador had been first, thereby justifying his actions. “Councilor Raelle contacted you?” Des did not waste a moment in contacting his grandmother.
“Not yet, although I do not anticipate much enjoyment in being lectured on your behalf.”
“The situation could not be salvaged.”
“The ambassador is our guest and deserves our hospitality,” Vekele said. After a pause, he added, “Even if he was rude first. You are too imprudent.”
