The Kingdom’s infirmary is thick with the scent of antiseptic and stale sweat. Seth sits on the edge of a narrow cot, the rhythmic drip of a leaking pipe echoing against the cold stone walls. His head throbs with every beat of his heart.
Scout approaches, her boots clicking softly on the linoleum. She carries a stack of fresh bandages and a heavy ledger.
Scout stops three paces away, her face drawn and tired.
Scout
Seth, the King is waiting. He says the eastern flank reports are more than just rumors. The whispers are moving again.
Seth
Should I push through this pain for the King's sake, or force him to wait? If I show weakness now, the others will see it as an invitation to chaos.
Seth
Give me a minute to finish this. Tell the King I will be there as soon as my vision stops swimming.