She swayed, a wave of dizziness and pain washing over her.
He caught her. Again.
His hands were on her arms, his grip firm, steadying her. His anger was gone, replaced by a weary, grudging concern. "You're a fool," he muttered, his voice rough. "You should not be on your feet."
"I'm fine," she lied, but her voice was weak, and her body betrayed her, slumping against him. She was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally drained.
He let out a sigh that was pure frustration, but he didn't let her go. He simply stood there for a long moment, holding her up, the warmth of his body seeping through her thin nightgown.
"You cannot make it back to your room," he stated. It wasn't a question.
She didn't have the strength to argue. She just shook her head, her forehead resting against his chest.
