King Jared was in a shitty mood—one he couldn't try to hide even if he wanted to. His body might have been recovering faster than expected, but the irritation boiling within him refused to subside. His injuries were healing so rapidly that all that remained were angry bruises marking his skin—silent evidence of the pain he had endured. The accelerated healing meant nothing to him. It didn't ease his temper, didn't erase what they had seen.
What gnawed at him more was the state of his men. Unlike him, they bore their wounds more visibly. Their expressions were severe, marked by a quiet fury and unspoken concern. Bandages wrapped around raw skin. Deep gashes mended slower than they should have. The difference between his healing and theirs wasn't natural. It unsettled him.
