After nearly two long, dragging weeks filled with endless bed rest, magical treatments, and Miss Seacole's relentless hovering, Aiden was finally given clearance to leave the infirmary.
Well... sort of.
"You may leave," Miss Seacole had said with a stern gaze that could level mountains, "but only in a wheelchair. Your feet haven't fully healed, and if I catch you even thinking about standing- "
"You'll tie me to the bed," Aiden finished for her, sighing. "Yes, yes. You've said that five times already, Miss Seacole."
"I mean it."
Moments later, a wheelchair was brought in- a rattling, rusty thing with a seat cushion too stiff and wheels that squeaked if you so much as breathed on them. Adrian took one look at it and puffed his chest out.
Adrian, ever the volunteer of ridiculous causes, slapped his chest. "I shall push you. Like a noble steed. Or a very stylish chariot driver."
