Damien
“Freya should be here shortly,” Marcus said to me as he walked into my office where I sat at my computer, fielding the emails and letters from the different packs of the kingdom my father didn’t want to bother with. Part of the job of being the eldest son I guess. War hero and diplomat of sorts.
“Excellent,” I said. “I need my bed linens cleaned, and I’d like her to recheck and redress my wound.”
“What wound?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing special,” I replied. “I was sparring with the youngest, and he honestly got me pretty good.”
“f**k sake, Damien! That was a nearly a week ago!” Marcus groaned. “You didn’t get it checked?”
“No…I’ve been busy,” I replied with a shrug. “But apparently it was becoming a problem.”
“Busy or not, you need to take care of yourself,” Marcus insisted,
