The command tent smelled of oiled canvas, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of Aiden's fractures. The runner had barely ducked out with the Empress's orders when she turned back to the cot. Aiden lay there with his shirt hanging open, chest rising in short, uneven pulls. Another tremor had just passed through him, leaving the glowing lines along his ribs and collarbone pulsing like fresh brands.
"Twenty minutes wasn't enough," the Empress said, voice low and rough. She crossed the space in two strides and dropped to her knees between his spread legs. Her palms slid up his bare chest, covering the worst of the fractures. Heat poured from her skin into his, steady and insistent.
Aiden's breath hitched. "We've got a camp to—"
