"What do you mean, your hands are still injured and you can't eat?" Thalina narrowed her eyes at Tharion, suspicion dripping from her voice.
She sat across from him, arms folded, watching as he lounged with an air of undeserved suffering. His food sat untouched in front of him, yet he looked perfectly fine. Not a single wince, not a single sign of discomfort—nothing.
But unknown to Thalina, Tharion was in pain—the poison was acting up again—yet he had no intention of letting Thalina know.
He planned to leave the palace soon to find a way to deal with it, but for now, his focus remained on his love. Who knew if he'd even make it this time?
Tharion let out a slow, dramatic sigh, raising his hands, which were wrapped in bandages made from some kind of soft fabric. "I suffered for you," he said, voice rich with melancholy. "And got badly injured."
Thalina squinted.
This liar.
His tail flicked behind him lazily, his expression too composed. Oh, he was obviously faking it.
